HAUNTED    HEARTS 


THE  AUTHOR    OF  «  THE  LAMPLIGHTER.' 


-     K.  -    A3STD 


BOSTON: 

-    A3ST 

1864. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congrew,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

MARIA    S.  CUMMINS, 
In  the  Clerk',  Office  of  the  District  Conrt  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


»L*CTROTYPED    AT    TH« 

Doiton    Stereotype    Foundry 
No.  4  Spring 


PEEFACE 


"Ir  you  could  only  write  a  book  one  day  and 
publish  it  the  next !  "  as  a  friend  of  mine  lately  ex 
claimed.  Then,  indeed,  one  could  keep  up  with  the 
times. 

But,  alas  !  my  book,  to-day  offered  to  the  public, 
was  projected  —  let  me  see  —  five,  six,  yes,  seven 
years  ago,  at  the  very  least.  The  foundation  of  it  — 
long  since  slipped  away,  the  outline  of  it — lost  in  the 
filling  in,  —  were  suggested  by  some  of  the  traditions 
of  a  New  Jersey  district,  related  to  me,  from  time 
to  time,  by  a  venerable  New  Jersey  farmer,  my  host, 
and  the  companion  or  instigator  of  my  excursions, 
during  a  few  weeks'  sojourn  at  the  farm.  He  was 
minute  in  his  delineation  of  the  historical  localities 
and  revolutionary  associations  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  they  were  not  a  few.  I  trust  I  profited  by  the 
valuable  information  he  imparted,  and  added  some 
thing  to  my  stock  of  positive,  though  unproductive, 
knowledge.  But  that  the  romantic  incidents,  the 

(3) 

M109763 


ACM 


traditionary  events  of  the  district .  related  hv  him  with 
>pirit,  and  li-tened  to  \>\  n,c  \\ith  ea-.-ntess,  took 
fa.-t  hold  of  my  iinaLrinalion,  and,  though  Ion--  in 
ripening,  < -ventually  I, ore  i'mit,  the  following  pftgee 
furni-h  \olinninoiis  proof'. 

This  little  New  Jer-ey  graft,  this  germ  defined  to 
s\vell  to  >uch  unforsecii  proport ion>.  Imiir  lav  dormant. 
K\eii  \vhen  it  .-farted  into  life  and  vigor  it  promised 
only  a  miniatm-e  growth:  luit ,  as  somct  im«-  prnvcs 
the  ea-e  with  l>nd>  of  foreign  stock,  ir  took  wonder 
fully  to  the  soil,  claimed  room  for  its  expansion,  and 
grew  and  L^TCW.  until  at  la-t  it  :!--mned  the  form,  and 
acquired  the  dimensions,  which  it  wears  to-da\  . 

Meanwhile,  lui.-ier  finders  th.m  mine,  thcv  tell  me, 
and  jx-ns  i-arlier  in  the  field,  have  made  the  crime  on 
which  the  incidents  of  my  >tory  hail--  (  an  unnatural 
and  unusual  crime  in  civili/ed  communities),  the 
l»a-i<  and  groundwork  of  more  than  one  popular  feast 
which  fiction  has  served  up  to  the  puhlic.  Still,  as  I 
did  not  write  my  >tory  for  the  sake  of  the  crime,  but 
have  tolerated  the  crime  for  the  sake  of  my  story,  —  as 
det-iil-  of  material  horrors  have  l»ecn  subordinate  in 
mv  mind,  and  will  he,  I  trust,  in  my  reader's,  to  the 
\\ide-pread  and  la-tinir  inihience  \\hich  \\\c\  e\erci-i-d 
on  innocent  hearts  and  lives. —  I  \cnture  to  hope  that 
thi>  weh  of  fancy,  'long  drawn  out,'  may  contain 


PREFACE.  5 

some  threads  of  novelty,  interest,  and  pathos.  The 
will-o'-the-wisp  that  formerly  beguiled  the  traveller, 
the  ghosts  that  used  to  stalk  through  churchyards  at 
midnight,  the  spectres  that  once  haunted  forsaken, 
homes,  have  all  been  extinguished,  laid  to  rest,  or 
banished  by  knowledge,  reason,  and  experience ;  but 
so  long  as  individual  hopes,  and  loves,  and  fears  are 
merged  in  the  universal  lot,  so  long  as  each  human 
heart  is  but  a  link  in  "  that  electric  chain  wherewith 
we  are  darkly  bound,"  what  hope  is  there  that  the 
will-o'-the-wisp  of  deceit,  the  ghost  of  buried  joys, 
the  spectre  of  withering  fears,  will  cease  to  beguile, 
startle,  and  haunt  the  great  heart  of  Humanity? 

And  because  we  all  have  within  us  such  false  lights, 
such  hidden  ghosts,  such  stalking  spectres,  I  venture 
to  believe  that  in  probing  life  deep  at  one  point,.! 
may  chance  to  reach  to  the  common  root,  that  haply 
I  may  awaken  a  respect  and  sympathy  for  truths 
buried  in  life's  unfathomed  wells,  and  may  thus  strike 
the  secret  spring  of  all  charity,  by  suggesting  the 
debt  of  love,  compassion,  forgiveness,  sympathy 
which  each  owes  to  all,  and  all  to  each ;  since  who 
is  there  who  does  not,  may  not,  must  not,  carry  in 
his  breast  that  pitiful  thing  —  A  HAUNTED  HEART  ? 


• 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  OLD  DUTCH  TAVERN, 9 

II.    A  COMFORT  OR  A  CURSE  —  WHICH  ? 14 

III.  OUTSTRIPPED  IN  THE  RACE, 28 

IV.  THE  DOUBTFUL  VALUE  OF  GEORGE'S  FRIENDS, 47 

V.    THE  CHRISTMAS  BALL, 60 

VI.    TELLING  WHAT  HAD  BECOME  OF  GEORDIE, 76 

VII.  IN    WHICH    A    SUDDEN    STOP    IS    PUT    TO    THE    MUSIC,    ...  92 

VIII.    TURNING  THE  TABLES, 117 

IX.    SHRIFT  AND  ABSOLUTION, 135 

X.    A  CRIME  AND  A  BIT  OF  PROOF, 146 

XI.    BATTLING  WITH  FATE, 163 

XII.    WEIGHING  THE  TESTIMONY, 183 

XIII.  POLLY  DEFIANT  AND  POLLY  SUBDUED, 197 

XIV.  A  FRESH  CATASTROPHE, 217 

XV.    BREAKING  THE  NEWS, 235 

XVI.    THE  LONG  WATCH  OVER, 242 

XVII.    A  WINTER  OF  THE  HEART, 256 

XVIII.    THE  DROP  OF  DEW, 267 

(7) 


8  COA  n  \  /  >. 

CUAPTBa  «'»'•« 

MX.  Tin.    Voiri.    oi     l'i  i-.i  '«     OPINION M 

XX.  A  CLEW  AT  LAST, 109 

\  \  I.  (  IS       I  11  I.       1  <  'KIMI. 

\\II.      \    BmUMM   OOHPK  ' 386 

\\I1I.  o\  i.uu  HI  i  MI  i>    \\  1 1  ii    BUOCBM 

\\IV.  A      I    oNll    NIloN      I  oi:      1'I.M    H 

\\\'.  'I'm.    I'KINI  ir  \i.    Wi'rsK>s, ' 

\\\  I.  Tin.    DIM  M  i  vi  KIN I"-1 

\\\  II.  M  rri.i:    AT   mi     1'iri.    AND    I',o\vi i:;S 

\\\    III.       C"N,,i:  A  1  ILAIIoNS t1'1' 

\\I\.  (,)i  1 1. 1     I>\v- |v; 

XXX.     HAIMI.I'    Ih:Ar.r>   MX«»I:I  T-I.D   ANI>    I'.i.i  -  r t-"'. 

\.\\I.  Tin.    II\I;K    SUM.   «>i     nil.    1M<  n  r.i i>17 

\.\\1I.     A    l'Ai:r.\vi.i.i.   QLDCnJC, •"-' 

\.\\lll.    CONCLUSION, •''»'•' 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE    OLD    DUTCH   TAVERN. 

EVERY  circle  has  its  centre.  To  describe  a  circle,  one 
must  choose  a  given  point,  and  radiate  thence  at  equal 
distances.  The  north-eastern  corner  of  New  Jersey  is 
that  part  of  the  earth's  surface  on  which  I  propose  to 
describe  a  circle,  and  the  centre  of  that  circle  is  Stein's 
Tavern. 

Stein's  Tavern,  then,  is  my  starting-point.  But  why  be 
in  haste  ?  The  weather  is  cold,  for  it  is  winter ;  it  is 
nearly  dark,  for  the  days  are  at  the  shortest ;  to  strike 
out  into  the  country,  is  to  expose  one's  self  to  solitude 
and  poor  cheer,  for  the  neighborhood  is  thinly  populated, 
and  not  much  given  to  hospitality. 

The  reverse  of  all  this  is  the  case  at  Stem's.  It  is 
warm  there,  for  great  wood  fires  are  blazing  in  all  the 
chimneys  ;  it  is  light  in  spite  of  the  gathering  darkness 
without,  for  the  windows  glow  with  the  flame  of  an  un 
usual  number  of  lamps  and  candles  ;  there  is  a  prospect 
of  good  company,  too,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  echo 
of  voices  in  and  about  the  house,  the  number  of  vehicles 

(9) 


ID  //  i  / 

(•r<>\\  iliii'j    tli<'    stables    and    shed-,    and    the    multitude   of 
counlrv   people,  on   foot,  mi    hor.-eback.    or    in    carriages, 


are  converging  tov.  .  hial  centre. 

It  is  evidentlv  no  time  t«>  turn  one'-  hack  on  Stein's 
T;i\erH.  So  we  v.  ill  linger  a  while  at  this  place  of  enter 

tainment,  at  lea-t  until  the  jiariv  break-  up  ami  the  o;her 
gtteStfl  take  lea\e. 

Sti-in's  Tavi-rn  is  a  lu'avY-l>ni\vr<l  I  )utch  building)  Man<l- 
i:i_:  dii  6  upon  the  mam  road,  \vliidi  it  Iron!-,  and  onlv 
separated  from  aimtlu-r  liiirhway  which  cuts  tlu-  former  at 
ri-jht  angles  l»y  the  tavern  yard.  The  (jiu-stion  mi-ht 
here  arise  whether  any  thinir  ran  he  termed  a  yard 
which  is  merely  a  va-t  space,  lop  the  nio-t  part  un- 
-odd«-«l.  du-ly.  littere(l  with  chip-.  nx-yi»kr<,  cart-wheel-. 
every  thin::  indeed  which  is  n  cle--  and  un-i-htly.  and  in 
no  way  limited  or  enelo.-rd.  otherwi.-e  than  by  the  roads 
whieh  con-titntc  two  ..f  its  boundaries,  the  lonir  stretch 
of  liuildiiiLf  which  Hank-  it  on  the  inner  ,-ide.  and  the 
hai-i!-  and  other  outbuildings  which  are  huddled  together 
in  it-  r<-;n-.  I»ut  who  lias  not  seen  ju-t  sueh  yard-? 

The  linildinLT  it-elf  i-  libi-ral  in  its  dimeii-io!i<.  pre- 
scntiiiLr  a  \;;-t  deal  of  -nHace  in  projv»rti«ni  to  the  actual 
:modations  it  f'urnishe-.  is  painted  white  in  front 
and  red  everv  where  el-e.  and  boa-t-.  like  ino-t  \r\\ 
.I.-r-i-y  lii.n-e-.  a  \ery  unnecessary  number  of  doors  and 
windo\\  -.  A-  then  i-  an  entrance  at  the  side  of  the 
hoii-e.  openinir  upon  the  vard.  and  two  of  erpial  prctcii- 
-ion-  1'aeiiiLT  ili.-  road,  it  would  be  difficult  to  decide 
whi«-h  OOnfltitnted  the  main  a]>proaeh.  or  honorary 


THE    OLD    DUTCH    TAVERN.  11 

threshold,  were  not  this  question  determined  by  a  Dutch 
inscription  over  one  of  the  front  doorways,  announcing 
food  and  drink  for  man  and  beast.  To  this  advertise 
ment  of  the  character  and  purpose  of  the  building  is 
subjoined  the  date,  —  A.  D.  1710.  As  it  is  on  the 
evening  of  December  twenty- third,  1812,.  that  we  have 
alighted  at  this  doorway,  the  two  dates,  taken  in  con 
nection,  betray  the  building  to  be  now  more  than  a 
hundred  years  old. 

This  old  tavern  has  a  history,  and  if  memorable  events 
had  left  their  mark  on  wood  and  plaster,  its  walls  would 
be  written  all  over  with  meaning  inscriptions.  Its 
oaken  frame,  hewn  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
planted  in  its  present  position  in  early  colonial  days,  has 
outstood  several  generations,  survived  successive  wars, 
and,  in  some  degree,  shared  the  fortunes  of  the  new  re 
public.  New  Jersey,  protected  by  its  remoteness  from 
the  frontiers,  had  been  spared  the  disasters  and  cruelties 
that  attended  the  French  and  Indian  warfare,  but  her 
soil  had  in  later  years  been  overrun  by  British  and 
Hessian  soldiers,  and  the  two  consecutive  campaigns, 
which  resulted  so  successfully  for  American  arms,  and 
made  this  little  State  classic  ground,  had  seen  her  settlers 
pillaged,  impoverished,  and  cruelly  insulted  by  a  lawless 
soldiery.  -The  principal  public  house  of  the  district, 
standing  unprotected  at  the  junction  of  two  highways, 
was  at  once  a  temptation  and  a  mark.  To-day,  priv 
ileged  to  furnish  shelter  and  afford  refreshment  to  the 
untiring  patriot,  who,  during  a  winter  of  hardship  and 


ll>  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

discouragement,  was  cheering  and  kcepin«_r  alive  the  spirit 
•  if  a  handful  «»!'  sick  ami  destitute  mm.  tin-  aPQM-ftMMil 
inn  found  itself  on  tin-  morrow  r\po-ed  to  tin-  ravages 
of  foreign  ruffians,  who.  successful  in  sonic  neighboring 
-kirmish,  or  retreating  ai'trr  some  disastrous  engagement, 
iii/uli-  the  tavej-n  the  scene  of  their  triumphant  iv\rl-. 
or  barricaded  it  lor  their  temporary  defence  —  in  either 
OBM  robbing  its  larder,  destroying  its  i'lirnitnre.  brow 
beating  the  landlord,  driving  away  his  cattle,  and  dis- 
jier.-iii'_r  bis  household. 

Poor  Hans  Stein  (for  it  was  Stein's  Tavern  then) 
would  creep  back  after  each  such  instance  of  robbery 
and  wroiiLf,  and  lindini:  the  late  danger  j»a>t,  collect  his 
t'iiLritive  ianiily  together,  and  endeavor  to  repair  his 
losses,  stem  the  tide  of  poverty,  and  hope  for  better 
days.  Better  days  came  at  last  —  days  of  peaco,  law,  and 
prosperity;  right  triumphed  over  might,  and  the  land 
was  free. 

But  repeated  mi>loriuin->  had  left  Hans  Stein  old  and 
poor.  True,  tho  tavern  -till  stood  upright  in  its  strength, 
and  the  adjacent  land,  for  a  circuit  of  some  acres,  was 
the  property  of  Stein,  lint  the  house  had  been  dopoiled 
of  the  few  comforts  and  valuables  which  years  of  indus 
try  had  enabled  Hans  to  accumulate,  the  crops  had  been 
-wept  from  his  land,  his  bams  and  outbuildings  had  been 
burned.  During  the  seven-  winter  of  177('»-7.  which  he 
and  his  family  had  pa--ed  in  exile  and  wandering,  his 
thrifty  dame  had  died  of  an  illness  induced  by  e\po-mv 
and  aggravated  by  homesickness.  When,  in  the  chill 


THE    OLD    DUTCH   TAVERN.  13 

days  of  March,  reassured  by  the  report  that  the  British 
had  been  driven  from  the  neighborhood,  Stein  ventured 
back  to  his  deserted  premises,  discouragement  met  him 
at  the  very  threshold.  His  doors  were  broken  from 
their  hinges,  hjs  windows  shattered,  snow  had  swept 
through  the  passages  and  accumulated  in  drifts  in  the 
corners,  and  the  wind,  rushing  down  the  wide  chimney, 
had  brought  with  it  a  shower  of  soot,  and  darkened  the 
once  clean  and  sanded  kitchen  floor.  Even  the  old  house 
dog,  who,  true  to  his  trust,  had  never  deserted  the  home 
stead  on  occasions  of  alarm,  and  who,  after  earlier  and 
briefer  absences  on  the  part  of  his  master,  had  always 
met  him  on  his  return  with  a  proud  look  and  a  wag  of 
the  tail,  which  seemed  to  indicate  the  valorous  part  he 
had  played  in  the  preservation  of  the  property,  even  poor 
Donner  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  fidelity,  and  the  body 
of  the  loyal  beast,  ignominiously  slain,  and  hanging  stiff 
and  stark  in  the  doorway,  was  the  ghost  of  the  past  and 
the  omen  of  the  future,  which  constituted  Stein's  wel 
come  home. 

The  old  Dutchman  was  no  longer  capable  of  resisting 
memory  or  defying  fate.  He  slunk  down  at  his  cheer 
less  hearthstone,  closed  his  lips  upon  a  smouldering  pipe, 
uttered  no  complaints,  but  became  thenceforward  a  prey 
to  infirmity  and  helplessness. 

That  which  was  despair  to  Hans,  however,  was  oppor 
tunity  to  his  son  Diedrich.  Hans  had  a  generous  soul, 
and  prosperity  was  its  element ;  Diedrich's  was  a  narrow 
nature,  that  could  endure  straits.  Hans  was  jovial,  and 
2 


!  1  //.I  /    \   /'/   L>    HEARTS. 

.•raved    Hiu-hiiie  ;     Dicdrich    was    Milky,   and    elond-    and 
-uiied    !ii-    humor.       Han-    was    -oft-hearted,  and  SO 
had  been  eru-hed  by  misfortune  :    Dicdrich  was  hard,  and 
dilheultie-   ,-harpened    him. 

Father   and    son   had   never   cooperated    either    a-    far 
mers   or   publican-.      So    tin-    hitler    had     looked    on    -nl- 
le-dy.  hiding    liis   tinu'. —  and    his   linn-    had    rmnr.      The 
"!d    man    sat    nmv  in    ihr   chimney  cnnirr  :    there    \\a-    n<- 
son     t(»     rival     1  )iedrieh  :      .Margaret,    the     t'aithl'id 
hter    :i!id    the    u-rlul    dnid'Z«'.    wa<    indi-j»ensal»le    in 
ttM    liousrhi.lil.  IMII    Diedrieh    wa>    fannrr.  landloi-d.  nias- 
Ile    thr«»\'e.     A  lew  weeks  saw  the    house  in  toh-ra- 
•  jiair.      In   as   many  months   a   temporary  liarn   had 
been   built,    jirrj.arations    lor    tilling    tin-    land    had  com- 
meneiHl  on  a  small  scale,  and  the  bar-room  was  opened 
to  customers.        In   proee.-s  of  time,    outbuilding    reared 
themselves    of   more    pretension    than    Hans    had 
dreamed  of  in    his   be-t    days,  a  new  win-'  VPM    added   to 
the  hou-e.  and  Stein'-  Tavern  became   a    plare  of  reputa 
tion  and  ivsort.  wtdl-kuown  for  a  di-tanee  of  thirty  miles 
around,    and    familiarly    r-p«»k«-n    «»f    in    the  city  of    New 
York    itself. 

The  notoriety  of  thi>  Country  inn  wa-  due  to  two 
CMUMB.  FiiM.  to  the  natural  advantage-  of  it>  locality. 
Se«-ondly.  to  the  sa-acioi^  and  tinu-M'r\in-  landlord, 
who  knew  how  to  make  the  mo>t  of  them.  N«'itl»er  of 

of  mwm  ITM  obvione  to  the 

ol,-e,".er.      The    taNeru.    il    is   true,    had   l-en    frdiciOUSly 
at    the  junction    of   tuo    i-oad-.    each    e..nnee!in;r 


THE    OLD    DUTCH    TAVERN.  If) 

market-towns,  and  consequently  much  travelled  by  the 
neighboring  farmers.  It  thus  served  as  a  half-way  house, 
a  stopping-place,  and  a  rendezvous  for  the  people  of  the 
district.  But  this,  after  all,  was  a  small  source  of  profit, 
and  except  the  occasional  custom  thus  afforded,  the  house 
seemed  remote  from  all  chance  of  public  favor  and 
patronage. 

The  nearest  village  was  four  miles  distant,  and  was 
approached  by  the  cross-road,  which,  in  this  direction, 
was  a  well-graded  highway,  and  easy  of  travel,  but 
which,  as  it  stretched  back  into  the  country,  presented  a 
continuous  ascent,  and  led  finally  across  a  wild  and  lonely 
elevation,  known  as  the  Mountain,  being  the  only  high 
and  mountainous  land  in  the  vicinity  ;  a  stray  bit  of  some 
Alleghany  ridge,  already  memorable  as  having  often 
furnished  a  natural  observatory  to  General  Washington 
during  his  winter  campaign  in  New  Jersey,  notorious  in 
later  years  as  the  scene  of  an  event  which  I  am  about  to 
relate  in  these  pages. 

Though  this  cross-road  was  a  thoroughfare  much  fre 
quented  by  farmers  from  the  interior  of  the  district,  the 
fact  that  it  did  not  furnish  a  connecting  link  with  the 
city  of  New  York,  rendered  it  of  second-rate  importance 
compared  with  the  main-road,  which  communicated  di 
rectly  with  the  great  metropolis.  This  main-road  may 
be  described  in  one  word  —  such  was  its  monotony. 
For  two  miles,  in  the  direction  leading  to  the  city,  it 
stretched  away  at  a  dead  level,  unvaried  by  a  single 
hillock,  and  with  only  here  and  there  a  farm-house  or 


1C  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

barn  to  break  the  dreary  pro-pert.  I«',,r  two  mile-,,  in  the 
opposite  direction,  tin-  mail  wa-  a  c<  mnterpart  to  this  — 
l.i-.. ad.  strai-ht.  and  so  evenly  Lrra<l.-<l  that  a  font  passen- 
LMT.  at  its  further  extremity,  was  on  u  direct  line  of 
\i-ion  \\\\\\  the  idler  who  watched  his  approach  from  the 
ta\«TU  door. 

Small  prospect  of  diver-ion  this  place  afforded  to  the 
tavern  idler,  one  would  think,  and  >dd«>m  would  his 
wateh  be  rewarded  by  any  variation  in  the  dull  uni 
formity  of  the  landscape!  Not  so.  And  whv'r  1'.. - 
eau-e  Stein's  Tavern,  lonely,  bleak,  and  bare,  was  the 
rent iv  of  the  finest  race-course  in  the  whole  country 
round. 

Fame  has  its  bojrinnin<_r-.  and  Stein's  Plains  had  once 
boa-tod  only  a  local  reputation.  Jolly  old  Hans  would 
laiiLrh  until  his  sides  shook  to  see  Jock  the  pedler  and 
Sehell  the  market  gardener  invariably  whip  up  as  they 
left  his  door,  and  emulously  make  for  the  city  at  a 
plunjrinir  canter,  this  bein'_r  the  only  pace,  out  of  a  walk, 
of  which  either  of  their  poor  bea-t-  was  capable. 

The  genial-tempered  landlord  would  encourage  the 
farmers'  SOUS  to  te-t  the  mettle  of  their  half-broken  colts 
OM  hi-  raein._r-'_M-ound  :  with  his  head  cocked  on  one  side 
Mid  an  occasional  whitFat  his  pipe,  he  would  measure  the 
speed  of  the  animals,  pronounce  upon  their  point-,  dap  the 
owner  of  the  be-t  hor-e  on  the  -houldcr.  and  invite  all  the 
younjr  men  to  take  a  drink.  Thriftle--  Hans  little  antici 
pated  a  time  when -the  line-  would  be  marked  out  and 
the  race-course  measured;  when  the  city  ireniry  would 


THE    OLD    DUTCH    TAVERN,  17 

pour  out  in  throngs  to  witness  the  sport ;  when  his  place 
would  be  filled  by  a  score  of  more  accomplished  judges  ; 
when  high-bred  horses  would  await  the  signal^  and  his 
son  Diedrich  hold  the  stakes.  Simple  Hans  might  even 
have  doubted  whether  all  this  would  benefit  society,  or 
help  to  build  up  his  own  fortunes  ;  but  far-seeing  Die 
drich  had  no  such  scruples.  He  knew,  and  acted  on 
the  knowledge,  how  to  make  other  men's  pleasures, 
follies,  and  sins  all  tend  to  the  lining  of  his  own  pocket. 
Sly  himself,  he  contrived  to  win  confidence.  Selfish,  he 
nevertheless  achieved  a  sort  of  popularity  ;  suspected  by 
individuals,  his  character  stood  well  with  the  public. 

How  he  contrived  to  cater  to  all  men's  tastes,  and 
receive  their  patronage  in  return,  and  what  had  proved 
the  result  of  a  proprietorship,  now  of  some  thirty  years 
standing,  we  shall  best  learn  by  mingling  freely  with  the 
crowd  assembled  in  and  around  the  cross-road  inn  on  the 
evening  of  the  above-mentioned  December  twenty-third. 
2* 


18  HA  US  TED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A   COMFORT   Oil   A    CURSE WHICE  ? 

IT  is  about  five  o'clock.  There  is  a  comparative  lull 
in  the  excitement  of  the  occasion,  for  tin-  nth-moon  races 
are  over,  and  the  ball,  which  is  to  many  the  climax  of 
tin  fe.-tivities,  has  not  begun.  The  crowd,  however,  is 
at  its  height,  the  frequenters  of  the  race-course  not  hav 
ing  yet  dispersed,  while  tin-  patrons  <>f  tin-  evening  pas 
time  are  already  pouring  in.  Parties  having  a  long  ride 
in  prospect,  are  fortifying  themselve-.  individually,  or 
in  groups,  some  ,at  a  select  table  in  tin-  tavern  parlor, 
some  drawn  around  the  kitchen  hearth,  some  hovering 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  bar.  Orders  for  refiv-h- 
ment  are  issued  on  all  -ides.  The  maid-servants  are 
linn-vim:  hither  and  thither,  and  two  awkward  farmer 
boys,  drafted  lor  the  oeea-ionvnrc  stumbling  over  Mtdl 
other  in  the  passages.  Still,  on  the  whole,  the  attend 
ance  is  good  and  the  supplies  ample,  for  old  Stein  is 
eagle-eyed,  and  his  patient  wile  i<  .slaving  herself  to 
death  in  the  pantry,  as  she  has  been  ever  since  she  was 
hi*  wife,  ;md  will  he  till  .-he  die-. 


A    COMFORT  OR   A    CUR  S  E—  WHICH*  19 

Above  stairs  every  thing  is  in  a  buzz  of  anticipation. 
The  rooms  on  the  second  floor  have  been  allotted  to  the 
fresh  arrivals  ;  and  here  the  farmers'  wives,  decked  in 
tall  turbans  and  Sunday  finery,  are  enjoying  something 
more  than  a  Sunday's  gossip,  while  their  daughters  are 
tying  on  high-heeled  slippers,  or  struggling  to  get  a  place 
at  the  mirror,  or,  with  toilet  completed  to  their  satis 
faction,  are  humming  a  lively  air,  and  keeping  time  to  it 
with  impatient  feet,  while  now  and  then  the  bolder  sort 
are  darting  into  the  entry-way,  chatting  saucy  nonsense 
to  some  country  beau  coming  up  the  stairs,  or  peeping 
through  the  rails  with  a  half-suppressed  titter,  intended 
to  attract  the  attention  of  some  city  gallant  loitering  in 
the  hall  below. 

Outside  the  house  the  scene  is  even  noisier  and  more 
confused.  Here  horses  are  harnessed  and  unharnessed, 
horses  are  petted  and  praised,  horses  are  abused  and 
kicked.  Men  are  laughing,  talking,  snapping  whips, 
quarrelling,  cheating,  and  settling  their  bets.  There  are 
all  expressions  of  face  among  them,  from  the  exultant 
smiles  of  fortunate  competitors  to  the  sullen  airs  of  their 
discomfited  rivals,  from. the  shrewd  sidelong  glance  of 
the  jockey  to  the  anxious  features  of  his  probable  victim, 
from  the  indifference  of  the  looker-on  to  the  eagerness 
of  the  wrestler  in  the  game  of  chance. 

No  one  ventures  to  dispute  the  assertion  of  Stein,  that 
the  races  have  been  successful,  wonderfully  successful, 
the  most  successful  he  has  ever  witnessed ;  there  are 
many  to  echo  this  sentiment,  annually  expressed  by  the 


20  HA  UK  T  1   I>     H  i.    /  /.'  / '  v. 

landlord:  but  ih.-iv  i-  more  than  one  who  re-pond-  to  ii 
liy  mentally  enr.-inLr  Stein,  hi-  tavern,  and  hi-  ra«  .  - 
course,  a s  being  at  the  l>ottomof  all  his  ill  fortune  in  life. 

Among  tin-  former  ela-.-.  -ati-tied  with  tin-  occasion 
and  complacent  toward-  the  ho-t,  i-  a  middle-aged  'j« n- 
ileman.  who  has  ju.-t  nioiinlfd  his  ciirricK-.  and  who.  as 
he  rcorivrs  tin-  n-ins  i'roin  tin-  hands  ot'  thr  landlord  hiin- 
M'lt'.  exclaims,  wilh  ir«"»tl-hiunori-d  rondr-reiision,  "Good 
night,  and  a  runTY  ( 'hi'i-inia-  to  \-oii,  Mr.  Stein!  You 
ha\e  loi-e-.t:illi'il  the  date  a  litile.  hut  that  i-  all  ri-ht  :  to 
morrow  is  Saturday,  and  it  would  not  do  to  let  tin-  younir 
folks'  hall  run  into  the  Sahhatli.  Your  races  have  gone 
oil'  finely  this  year.  I  generally  drive  out  to  look  on, 
and  I  never  .-aw  lleeter  horses  on  the  ground." 

••  No  one  i-  a  Letter  judir'-  than  your-elf.  >ir."  said 
•Stein,  bowing,  hat  in  hand,  and  he-towing  a  diplomatic 
•jlance  on  the  handsome  pair  to  whom  the  New  York 
men-haul  wa-ju-t  iriviii'_r  the  reins. 

*•  I  don't  much  approve  of  this  horse-racing."  remarked 
the  merchant,  as  he  somewhat  vainly  watched  the  e\en 
trot  of  his  own  Inu>e<,  and  addressi-d  the  respectable 
lawyer  who  was  Hie  c-ompanion  of  his  drive  :  "hut  our 
VIIUIILT  men  \\ill  have  their  .-port,  and  these  annual  meet- 
:iirni-h  the  l.e.-t  opportunity  for  completing  one's 
-lud.  I  want  a  better  match  for  that  off  horse,  if  1 
can  find  one:  and.  settin-jf  a-ide  the  race<.  it  is  worth 
while  io  -tep  over  into  Jersey,  to  dine  off  a  can- 
\a--back.  -.  rved  as  one  gets  them  at  Stein'.-.  Ilone-i 
fellow,  that  Stein:  Take  care,  there:"  and  the  line 


A    COMFORT    Oil    A    CURSE  — WHICH!  21 

gentleman  pulled  up  just  in  time  to  avoid  running  over  a 
rough,  elderly  farmer,  who,  with  his  broad-brimmed  hat 
pulled  low  over  his  forehead,  was  crossing  the  road,  on 
his  way  to  the  tavern,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  left. 

"  Bless  me  !  "  cried  the  farmer,  as  he  stepped  aside, 
and  stood  staring  after  the  curricle,  which,  the  obstacle 
removed,  rolled  rapidly  on.  "  How  these  New  Yorkers 
sweep  the  road  !  They  don't  leave  a  Jarseyman  room 
to  steer ! " 

"  Don't  let  'em  run  you  down,  neighbor  Rycker,"  ex 
claimed  a  voice  just  beside  him.  "  They  drive  like  the 
devil  on  two  sticks  —  them  fellers  do  —  'specially  arter 
dinner ;  but  the  plains  is  free  ground,  and  they're  bound 
to  turn  out  for  a  man  whether  or  no." 

"  Wai,"  said  old  Rycker,  retreating  to  the  grassy 
road-side,  and  keeping  a  flank  lookout  as  another  light 
vehicle  approached  from  the  tavern,  "  I  reckon  I'd  better 
take  a  safe  course,  and  go  round  the  stump  ;  that's  my 
way  allers." 

"  You're  an  easy  old  cove,  Rycker,  and  the  right  one 
for  them  folks  to  deal  with,"  remarked  his  neighbor. 
"  It  stirs  my  blood  a  leetle  to  see  how  them  city  chaps 
rides  it  over  the  old  settlers.  You  didn't  jine  in  the 
races,  farmer?" 

"No,  no,"  replied  Rycker,  facetiously ;  "my  hosses 
was  busy  at  the  plough." 

"  I  jest  see  your  red  colt  up  at  the  shed,"  said  the 
other.  "  Young  Joe's  been  puttin'  him  over  the  road,  I 
reckon." 

2* 


•j-j  HA  r.\  i •  i  •/<   ///:.<  /.-  rj  . 

••  .lor  fetched  up  hi-  inarm  and  the  gals  about  an 
hour  ago  in  the  wagon.  They  hadn't  no  room  to  -pare, 
what  with  all  their  gini-eracks  and  coek-a-toos,  so  I 
tooted  it." 

"The  hall'.-  what  you've  come  fur,  then,  is  it?" 

"  Wai,  yes.  If  the  gals  and  boys  likes  to  Mir  their 
stumps,  I've  no  objections  to  lookin'  on,  and  hcarin'  a 
bri.-k  tune  or  so  on  the  fiddle." 

"  Old  Cato  plays  lively  yet,"  was  the  answer  to  this 
ivmark.  ••  Some  on  'em  '11  damn-  hearty  to  his  music 
to-night,  I'm  thinkin',  and  then  aiiin  some  on  Yin 
won't." 

44  Ah,  that's  the  wust  on't,"  said  old  R\  ,-ker.  "  That's 
the  reason,  to  speak  truth,  neighbor  Van  Ilausen,  that 
!  jin  up  the  races,  and  keep  Joe  out  on  'em  when  I 
can.  I  allers  calkerlate  to  have  more  bu.-im-s-  than  ord- 
nary  on  hand  these  days,  if  it's  only  to  keep  the  boy  at 
home.  When  folks  set  their  hearts  on  the  legs  of  a 
boss,  they  stand  a  good  chance  to  be  disappinti-d,  and 
sarves  'em  right  ;  they're  a  pack  o'  fools,  all  on  'em." 

44  Wai,  gincrally  speakinV'  said  Van  Ilausen.  *;  I 
wouldn't  pitrh  a  copper  who  \\in-.  either  way:  hut  it' 
Geordie  Kawle  will  be  fool  enonirh  to  run  his  brown 
mare  airin  the  stull'  them  city  hhules  stake  their  money 
and  their  souls  on,  why.  you  may  depend  on't  Dick  Van 
Hausen's  heart  is  purty  sure  to  be  sot  on  the  man-'s 

4'  Oi-ordif's  mnre  !  Do  tell,  now  !  "  cried  Kycker.  with 
animation.  "Has  any  body's  beast  «rcnie  ahead  o'  that? 


A    COMFORT   OR   A    C  URSE—  WHICH'}  23 

Geordie's  mare's  a  lady ;  what  did  Geordie  put  her  on 
the  course  fur  ?  " 

"  'Cause  he's   a  fool,  I  reckon,"    said  Van    Hauseii. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  between  the  two  men. 
"  Look  here,  Dick,"  said  Rycker,  at  length,  taking  his 
neighbor  by  the  button,  and  speaking  confidentially, 
"what  do  'yer  think  about  that  boy?  Will  he  be  a 
comfort  to  his  poor  old  mother  or  a  cuss  ?  " 

"  Dun  know,"  responded  Van  Hausen,  gravely. 

"  Geordie  'd  no  business  to  do  it,"  mused  Rycker, 
aloud;  "his  father's  son  had  no  business  to  do  it,"  — 
then  added,  looking  inquiringly  at  Van  Hausen,  "  I  'spose 
he  bet  on  her,  too  ?  " 

"  'Spose  so,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"  It'll  kind  o'  discourage  him,"  said  Rycker,  softening. 

"  Kind  o'  ?  You  ought  to  have  seen  them  two  — 
Geordie  and  the  mare  —  look  each  other  in  the  eye 
arterwards,"  said  Van  Hausen.  "  I  tell  you  them  two 
felt  jest  of  a  piece ;  they  was  ashamed  —  they  was 
mad  —  they  was  desprate." 

"  He'll  have  to  sell  her,  won't  he?"  asked  Rycker. 

"  Give  her  away,  more  like,"  said  Van  Hausen. 
"  Last  week  that  mare  would  ha'  brought  a  purty 
price.  Who  wants  her  now?  She  was  a  fancy  beast 
allers,  and  there  was  many  a  young  blade  had  his  eye 
on  her.  But  Geordie  held  off  till  arter  the  races  ;  dun 
know  whether  'twas  his  pride  in  the  crittur,  or  whether 
he  thought  he'd  get  a  louder  figur.  Game's  up  now ; 
he'll  have  to  let  her  go  for  what  she'll  fetch." 


•_>4  n A  i  \  TI:I>  in  .\  , 

••Poor  boy!"    .-aid    Rycker.     "He  sets   a   sight    by 

h.-r." 

••  \\'lm  can  wonder?"  exclaimed  \'an  Ilausen.       ••  Tlial 

..It   W9M    horn    tin-    niLflit   liis    father    died.       Farmer 

Ifawh-    hred    the    finest    ho--e<    that    w.-iv    rai-»-d    in    the 

JarMJS,  hut    none  on  'em   came  up  to   this  Yiv.     There 

'•'•ii-id'alil*-    >ti»rk    «'ii    tin-    larin    \vlini     l\a\\lr   dird. 

but  oiily  this   fraction  of  a  ho--  did  (ironlif   ,Lrct  out  on't. 

'T\va-  his  inheritaiic*',  fanner:    hi-  inheritance  :   tin-  only 

plnin  he  i^ot  out  of  the  j.i,-  !  " 

"48o    >inall.    it     was    o\  erlo(»ked  ?  "     (jin-ried      Uvckcr. 

significantly. 

"Jest  SO,  farmer  —  jest  so;  el-e  y.-r  may  In-  >nn- 
Sti-in's  long  fingers  would  ha'  Lfrahlied  it.  AVliere  did 
the  best  bosses  and  row.-  that  are  in  hi-  barn  now  tir-t 
larn  to  nilil)le  »rass?  Down  in  Kawle's  meader.  I 

swear." 

"  Kawle  owed  Stein  money.  I  *9pO 

(  .:T;  -;iy.  Stein  settled  the  estate,  of  cour-e  :  who 
else  could  the  widder  look  trr'r  Srttl.'d  it  much  to  his 
own  fancy.  I  reckon." 

••  1'ity.  on  the  whole,"  said  Ry.-ker.  -that  he  didn't 
take  a  fancy  to  (Ironlie's  roll  'lonir  wi'  the  iv-t.  It'- 
heni  only  a  ini.-chiel'  to  the  hoy.  I-'u-t.  he  mu-t  nei-ils 
raise  it.  then  l>n-ak  it.  and  then  ride  round  the  country 
«>n  it.  Turns  a  hoy'-  head  to  have  a  ra«vr  made  to  his 
hand,  and  a  raci-cmir-e  runnin.ir  witliin  a  stone's  throw 
of  his  mother'.-  door.  Now.  when  I  wa-  a  yonn«/-ler, 
there  wern't  no  harm  in  l»o\  -  mateliin'  their  colt<=  :  hut 


A    COMFORT   OR   A    C  U  R  S  E—WHIC  HI  25 

nowadays  it's  about  the  wust  thing  they  could  turn  their 
hand  ter." 

"  And  whose  fault's  that,  I  want  ter  know  ?"  ques 
tioned  Van  Hausen,  sharply.  "  'Taint  Geordie's  doin's 
that  racin's  come  to  be  such  a  temptation  in  these  parts. 
No,  he  owes  that  as  well 's  other  things  to  his  uncle 
Stein.  Ever  since  old  Hans  was  under  ground  Diedrich 
has  been  makin'  this  place  a  snare  for  men's  souls,  and 
featherin'  his,  nest  with  the  profits.  I  can  remember 
when  this  used  to  be  the  peaceablest  road  you  could  travel 
on,  and  now  there  isn't  a  month  in  the  year  that  these 
ere  highfliers  ain't  a-gettin'  up  some  kind  of  a  scrape,  and 
Stein  a-backin'  'em  up  in  't." 

"  It's  e'en-a-most  enough  to  make  old  Hans  rise  out 
of  his  grave  that  this  'ere  road  by  his  tavern  door 
should  prove  the  road  to  ruin  fur  poor  Margaret's  boy," 
said  Rycker. 

"  Ah,  ha,  neighbor !  "  said  Van  Hausen,  "  if  old 
Hans's  ghost  ever  meant  to  rise,  'twould  ha'  stood  up 
and  protested  on  Margaret's  wedding  day,  when  Diedrich 
sent  her  out  of  her  father's  house  a  beggar." 

"  Didn't  Rawle  and  his  wife  get  Margery's  share  of 
the  tavern-house  and  farm  ?  I'll  take  my  oath*  she  was 
entitled  to  that,  an'  a  many  year's  wages  too.  She 
drudged  in  the  tavern  kitchen  a  good  ten  year  or  more, 
to  my  knowledge." 

"  She  got  a  board-bill,  farmer  ;  yes,  a  board-bill,  heavy 
enough  to  eat  up  her  share  of  the  whole  consarn.  Far 
mer  Rawle  told  me  so  in  his  last  sickness,  and  I  believe 
3 


26  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

it.  It  only  adds  one  figur  to  a  long  score  that  '11  come 
up  agin  that  Stein  at  the  day  o'  judgment." 

"  Hush,  hush,  Van  Hausen  !  "  said  Kycker,  in  a  tone 
of  mild  reproof:  ••  that's  a  day  when  each  on  us  '11  have 
an  account  of  our  own  to  settle,  an'  nothin'  to  do  with 
our  neighbors." 

"  Hush,  hush  !  O,  yes,  it's  sure  to  be  hush,  hush, 
where  Diedrich  Stein  is  consarned.  There's  allers  some- 
thin'  turns  up  to  muzzle  men's  mouths  if  they  venture  to 
open  'em  agin  him.  But  what's  the  use  o'  talkin'  ?  The 
Kawles  chose  to  pocket  the  wrong,  and  it's  too  late  t<» 
right  'em  now ;  besides,  Geordie  dun  know  nothin' 
about  it,  an'  if  he  did,  he  ain't  one  to  be  rakiif  up 
old  scores." 

44  It's  better  so,  it's  better  so,"  remarked  Ryrkn- : 
"  'twould  only  be  calkerlated  to  set  the  boy  agin  his 
relations." 

"I  ain't  so  sure  it's  better  so,"  said  Van  Hausen. 
44  Forewarned's  forearmed,  and  I've  some  notion  o' 
jrivin'  Geordie  a  warnin'.  It  goes  agin  my  grain  to  see 
that  boy  hangin'  round  the  tavern,  and  keepin'  in  so 
thick  with  the  Steins.  I  was  at  work  for  Stein  a  whole 
sum  mo  r  VI  ic  11  I  was  prentiee  ti>  mv  trade,  as  long  ago 
as  AS  hen  he  built  on  the  t'other  end  o'  the  tavern  house. 
My  knowledge  on  him  dates  back  twenty  year.  He 
ain't  a  four-square  man,  and  they're  a  disjinted  set,  all 
on  'em;"  and  the  honest  carpenter  accompanied  this 
professional  diagnosis  of  the  Stein  character  with  an 
emphatic  blow  upon  the  ground  with  his  oaken  stick. 


A    COMFORT   OR   A    CURSE— WHICH!  27 

"  Wai,  now,  if  I  was  you,  Van  Hausen,"  advised 
Rycker,  "  I  wouldn't  set  Geordie  to  rootin'  out  mischief. 
He'd  better  go  round  the  stump.  Family  quarrels  is 
bad,  and  there's  a  double  connection  in  the  family,  yer 
know." 

"  Hang  the  connection  !  "  ejaculated  Van  Hausen. 
u  I  hain't  a  doubt  but  the  connection  was  the  reason  for 
Rawle  and  Margery's  swallerin'  that  board-bill  whole. 
Stein  had  married  Rawle's  sister  only  a  year  or  two  afore, 
and  Miss  Stein  was  kind  o'  sick  and  broken  down.  She's 
allers  kind  o'  sick  and  broken  down,  poor  body.  Mar 
gery  was  glad  enough  to  get  free  of  her  brother  on  any 
tarms,  I'm  thinkin',  and  Rawle  was  naterally  soft  about 
money  matters.  So  they  made  it  up.  And  what  came 
on't?  Why,  when  Rawle  died,  Stein  stretched  out  his 
long  fingers  agin,  and  claimed,  —  I  dun  know  what,  — 
another  board-bill,  perhaps  ;  ha,  ha  !  Rawle  and  his 
wife  had  taken  a  meal  now  and  then  at  the  tavern  !  who 
knows?  Any  how,  Stein  had  the  fixin'  o'  things,  an' 
the  widder  got  little  enough  out  o'  the  property.  That's 
what  come  o'  sticklin'  for  connection.  Now,  I  don't  go 
in  for  connection.  I  go  in  for  character.  I'm  about 
equally  connected  myself  with  the  Rawles  and  the 
Steins,  but  I  ain't  equal  in  my  likin'  for  both  families, 
by  a  long  shot." 

"  Don't  you  think  you're  rather  hard  on  the  Steins, 
Van  Hausen?"  said  Rycker.  "When  you  git  your 
back  up,  you're  real  grit.  But  there's  old  Hans  Stein 
never  had  an  inuimy,  —  without  'twas  the  Britishers,  — 


2«  HAU  If  TED   HEARTS. 

and  Geordie's  own  mother —  -he  was  a  Stein.     Steins 

and  Raule-  i-  puny  well  stirred  up  together.  'Taint 
lu->l  In  make  loo  nice  di-tinet  ion-." 

••  \Vln-n  I  say  si.-iiis,"  responded  Van  Hausen,  irri 
tably,  "I  mean  tlic  present  lot  on  'em, —  Diedrich  and 
hi*  -l..ck  in  trade.  IVter.  :i;id  that  sly  jade  of  a  Toll. 
They're  all  much  of  a  muchness,  and  I  fur  one  have  seen 
enough  ,,'  their  mean  ways." 

"  Wai,  now,  there's  your  brother-in-law,  Baultie.'1 
continued  Rycker,  "  he  must  have  a  purty  good  opinion 
«>'  Stein.  He  consults  him  on  most  ]>iuts.  and  ii  it 
wan't  lur  a  visit  at  tin-  tavern  off  an'  on,  Baultie  'd  be 
a  hermit  downright." 

"  Ah,  farmer  Rycker,"  said  Van  Hausen,  raising  his 
right  arm  M  In-  -poke,  and  bringing  it  down  with 
emphasis  on  Ryckcr's  shoulder.  "  now  you've  -truck  a 
clincher!  Ever  since  my  sister  Hannah  married  Baultie 
Rawle,  I've  seen  how  Stein  —  the  old  fox  —  was 
earthiii'  in  that  hunvr  ;  may  be  Baultie  has  money  — 
may  be  he  hasn't;  any  how,  there'll  be  some  pickin's 
yonder,  and  never  a  chick  nor  child  to  scratch  for't.  So 
old  Stein's  on  the  scent,  and  he'll  nose  it  out,  take  my 
word  for  t." 

"I  alters  thought  P»aultie  had  a  lurch  for  Gcordie. 
his  own  brother's  son,"  said  Rycker.  "  It's  no  more'n 
tair  Geordie  should  have  a  fair  shake  with  the  Steins." 

••  I  tell  yer.  Uycker.  lair  play'-  not  in  Stein's  cata- 
lojiie  <>'  human  vartnos.  Tie  cheated  (ieordic's  mother, 
he  cheated  hi-  lather,  and  now  he's  underminin'  the  lad. 


A    COMFORT    OH    A    C  U  It  S  E—  WHICH  1  29 

Why,  I  can  remember  when  Margery's  boy  half  lived 
on  the  mountain  with  the  old  folks.  They  couldn't 
make  enough  on  him ;  my  sister  was  allers  stuffin'  him 
with  jelly  and  pie,  and  old  Rawle  'ud  pat  him  on  the 
head,  an'  say,  What  trade  shall  we  bring  him  up  ter, 
Dick  ?  —  or,  AVill  ye  go  to  college,  Geordie  ?  But  how 
is't  now  ?  Why,  if  Baultie  meets  him  on  the  road,  he 
has  nothin'  fur  him  but  a  long  face  an'  a  scowl,  and 
dame  Rawle  shakes  her  head,  and  talks  about  wild 
doin's,  and  folks  comin'  to  the  gallers.  I  tell  yer 
nothin's  cut  Geordie  up  like  the  way  the  old  folks  ha' 
turned  the  cold  shoulder  on  him." 

"  P'raps  he  desarves  it,"  suggested  farmer  Rycker. 
"  If  all  I've  hearn  tell  on  is  true,  Geordie's  been  runnin' 
a  pretty  wild  rig  o'  late." 

"  So  he  has,"  said  Van  Hausen.  "  I'm  a  tremblin'  fur 
him  myself.  But  because  a  lad's  shaky  on  the  founda 
tion,  is  that  a  reason  fur  pullin'  him  down?  Prop  him 
up,  1  say,  prop  him  up,  an'  he'll  stand  stout  on  his 
timbers  yet.  But  what  do  some  folks  do  in  sec%  a 
case  ?  Why,  they  pull  out  a  nail  here,  an'  loose  a  jint 
there,  an'  then  call  all  the  neighbors  to  look  in  at  the 
chinks.  My  brother-in-law,  Baultie,  's  naterally  short 
sighted,  and  his  wife's  deaf;  who  is  it,  I  want  ter  know, 
that  keeps  their  eyes  an'  ears  open  to  all  poor  Geordie's 
sins?" 

"  Wai,  sech  things  gets  round,"  said  Rycker. 

"  Gets  round ! "  cried  Van  Hausen.  "  So  they  do 
when  there's  hands  to  keep  'em  a-spinnin'.  I  tell  yer 
3* 


3u  ii  A  i    \  r  i  j>   in  A  i;  i  s. 

Stein'.-    Ml     tllf     bottom     n!i';.         lie'.-     Jii/.elied     tile    nlil     : 

mind,  and  pi/ruin'  a  man'.-  mind  i>  one  kind  o'  murder." 
"O!  O!  O!  neighbor  Van  Ilan-cn,  them's  hard 
words!"  i-vlaimed  Ryeker.  ••  Stein  ain't  answerable 
t'..r  all  r.anltie's  crotchet-,  and  it'  a  man  cries  lip  his 
own  son,  and  reflects  a,  lectio  on  another  man'.-,  by 
way  O*  comparison,  why  that's  kind  o'  natcral  in 
lathers." 

••  Nateral.  i-  it  ?  Then,  thank  Heaven,  I  never  was  a 
father,"  responded  Van  Hausen.  "  My  hearth's  a  lonely 
«»n i«,  fanner,  but  it's  honest.  So  I'm  fur  home,  an'  a 
pipe,  an'  a  mug  o'  beer.  You'll  need  a  hop  in  the 
tavern  kitchen,  Rycker,  to  warm  up  your  cold  blood, 
an'  a  glass  of  spent. s  inter  the  bargain,  to  wash  down 
my  hard  words.  I  don't  need  any  .-ieh  .-tin-in'  up  or 
hcatin'  myself.  My  blood's  hot  yet,  if  I  am  gettin'  old. 
Good  night !  " 

"  Lor's  sakes  alive !  What  a  downright  set  them 
Van  Hausens  are!"  soliloquized  Ryeker,  as  he  came 
out^of  the  shadow  of  the  stables,  whore  lie  had  paused 
during  the  dialogue  with  his  neighbor,  and  approached 
the  warm,  bright  tavern.  The  place  looked  so  cheery 
and  inviting,  it  did  not  -eein  riirht  to  condemn  the  owner 
for  A  bad-hearted  man.  "I  reckon  Van  Ilansengoes  a 
I*  «  tl  too  fur."  thoiuht  Rycker,  "  he's  so  prejudiced  like. 
The  Stein-  an'  the  Rawles  is  good  enough  friends  fur's 
I  know.  \Yhat  does  he  want  to  -tir  nj>  ill  blood  atweeii 
'em  fur?  It's  best  to  b'lieve  what  yer  know,  and  not 
thinu  yer\e  hearn  tell  on."  And  a-  Rycker  was 


A   .COMFORT    OR    A    CURSE—  WHICH!  31 

about  to  enjoy  the  hospitalities  of  the  tavern  (he 
expected  to  pay  his  share  towards  the  music  and  the 
supper  —  still  it  was  none  the  less  Stein's  ball) ,  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  think  charitably  of  the  landlord ;  an 
opportune  resolve,  for  the  spare,  keen-eyed  host  was  the 
first  to  bid  him  welcome  as  he  entered  the  doorway. 


32  MA  US  TED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    III. 

OUTSTKIITI.h     IN     1III.    RACE. 

DiEDRim  MI  i\  was  getting  old — if  that  could  be 
said  with  truth  of  a  man  who  was  old  at  thirty,  and  had 
beeii  growing  younger  ever  since.  Not  that  he  had 
gone  back  to  the  days  <»t  innocence,  or  sunk  into  the 
imbecility  of  second  childhood,  but  in  all  those  tilings 
which  make  a  man  active,  prompt,  and  ellicient.  Stein's 
facultie-  \\ere  in  their  prime.  Every  year  had  made  hi- 
features  sharper,  hi-  eye-  nimv  deeply  >unkcn.  his  frame 
more  emaciated;  but  every  year  had  served  aU«>  t" 
sharpen  and  iutensify  the  inner  man.  until  the  shii 
unsocial  youth  had  ripened  inio  the  obiqttiiOB*,  mercu 
rial  little  de.-pot.  \vhose  eye,  voice,  and  hand  irere,  like 
e\cry  thing  else  ill  his  household,  the  ten  ant>  «•!'  hi.-  \\  ill. 
To  look  -harp,  move  quick,  .-peak  often  and  to  the 
purpose,  were  not  the  promptings  of  hi-  nature,  hut  they 
were  the  necessities  of  his  business.  Dicdrich  under 
stood  his  bu.-ine-.-.  o\  en-aim-  hi.-  nature,  and  througli 
force  of  habit  became  a  new  man.  In  his  small  sphere 
and  countrified  fa.-hiou,  he  was  an  autocrat,  a  diplo 
matist,  ulino.-t  a  courtier. 


OUTSTRIPPED    IN    THE   RACE.  33 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  farmer ! "  was  his  salutation  to 
Rycker.  "  You're  too  late  for  the  races,  but  just  in 
season  for  the  ball.  Your  good  woman  has  been  warm 
ing  her  feet  at  the  fire  up  stairs  for  a  half  hour  or  more. 
If  you're  for  something  hot,  one  o'  the  gals  will  wait 
on  you  at  the  bar."  "Off,  Mr.  Winn?  You  start 
early  —  but  you  carry  weight,  eh  ? "  he  exclaimed, 
addressing  a  young  man  in  riding  boots,  and  with  a 
long  whip  in  his  hand,  who  had  just  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  "  I'll  join  you  presently,  Rycker  "  —  spoken 
over  his  shoulder  to  the  farmer,  who  looked  shy  and 
sheepish  in  the  presence  of  the  city  gentry.  "  Some 
o'  my  guests  just  going —  make  yourself  at  home  ! " 
"  You're  lucky  on  the  course  "  —  with  a  congratulatory 
nod  to  Mr.  Winn  ;  "always  are — runs  in  some  fami 
lies,  you  know."  "  You  for  town,  too,  Mr.  Cipher?  "  — 
to  a  still  younger  man,  with  a  crest-fallen  countenance. 
"  I  thought,  perhaps,  you'd  stay  a  while,  and  join  the 
juveniles  in  a  dance." 

"  Dance  !  What,  I?  "  responded  young  Cipher,  with 
an  oath  which  seemed  too  big  for  his  mouth,  and  so  only 
half  escaped. 

"  O,  you're  not  quite  up  to  it?  Is  that  it,  my  boy? 
Your  mind's  running  on  your  nag's  broken  knees.  Never 
fear ;  he'll  be  all  right  in  a  week  or  two  ;  just  leave  him 
in  my  stable  ;  we'll  fetch  him  round.  That  was  an  ugly 
stumble,  but  you  must  try  him  again  one  o'  these  days. 
Fortin's  wheel  's  always  going  round,  —  remember  that ; 
it  will  be  your  turn  to  be  uppermost  next  time." 


HA  i  A  PJ  it    in:  \  UTS. 

Ili-iv  a  -nd« Ifii  slap  <MI  Stein's  shoulder  cau>cd  him 
to  turn  quickly.  "  Stein,  old  fellow,"  exclaimed  tin- 
jocular  voice  of  a  n-d-ia.-ed  man,  who  had  «ri\cn  tin- 
blow,  "Ned  Knuckle's  iu  for  a  supper  —  Thursday  of 
next  wci-k  —  that's  the  dat»- !  The  bc.-t  the  market 
affords —  that's  the  bill  o*  fare!  Supper  for  twchc, 
and  Ne«l  Knuckle  toots  the  bill." 

-What  does  Stein  care  who  foots  the  bill?"  cried 
Ned  Knuckle,  emerging  from  the  bar-room  with  an 
unsteady  gait,  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth.  "  What 
matter  is  it  to  Stein,  so  long's  it  brings  grist  to  his 
mill?" 

This  remark  was  received  with  a  laugh  by  a  group 
of  men  who  followed  Knuckle  into  the  hall. 

u  Stein  ha-n't  any  favorites  !  "  cried  one. 

"  He  spiles  all  his  boys,"  said  another. 

"  Makes  no  excep-ep-tions,  and  shows  no  p-p-par- 
tialilies."  hioronirhed  a  third. 

"  Only  when  he  tips  a  wink  to  a  customer,"  inter 
rupted  the  red-faced  man. 

"And  makes  or  breaks  a  bargain."  growled  a  disap 
pointed  jockey. 

Shouts,  winks,  and  horse-la  ii'_rh>  accompanied  and 
echoed  these  little  insinuations.  Stein  laughed  too,  a 
mechanical  laii'jh  of  hi.-,  which  chimed  in  e(jnally  wi-11 
with  pMiuinc  mirth,  drunken  mirth,  mirth  of  which  he 
him-clf  wa-  the  .-nbject.  lie  had  the  discretion.  ho\v- 
C\<T.  in  dcprixe  his  «rne.-ts  of  ihrir  butt  hy  >tcjijiiiiLr 
ont-iile  the  doorway.  wh«-rr.  -landing  with  his  hands 


OUTSTRIPPED   IN   THE  RACE.  35 

behind  his  back,  he  watched,  or  facilitated,  the  departure 
of  one  after  another  who  was  in  haste  to  be  off. 

"  Fine  evening,  cap'n ! "  he  remarked  to  a  young 
man  who  was  walking  slowly  up  and  down  a  little 
wooden  platform  that  stretched  across  the  front  of  the 
tavern.  The  young  man,  who  had  seemed  abstracted 
and  lost  in  reflection,  paused  on  being  thus  addressed. 
"  Yes,  a  very  fine  evening,  landlord."  Then,  as  if 
rousing  himself  for  the  first  time  to  an  observation  of 
the  scene  around  him,  he  added,  "  Many  of  your 
guests  seem  to  be  leaving,  Mr.  Stein?  Driving  back 
to  the  city,  1  suppose." 

"  Yes,  the  folks  keep  us  pretty  busy  just  about  night 
fall —  what  with  going  and  coming  bf»th.  How's  your 
arm  to-night,  sir?"  and  Stein  glanced  at  the  young 
man's  arm,  which  was  suspended  in  a  sling. 

"Better,  thank  you  —  a  little  weak,  that's  all.  The 
wound  has  healed  entirely.  I  only  wear  the  sling  now 
when  I  am  out  of  doors,  as  an  additional  protection 
from  the  cold." 

"  That's  good,"  replied  the  landlord.  "  The  country 
air  suits  you,  sir ;  you've  picked  up  wonderfully  since 
you've  done  me  the  honor  to  put  up  at  my  house." 

"  Yes,  the  climate  and  the  accommodations  have  both 
suited  me.  You've  made  me  very  comfortable,  Mr. 
Stein." 

This  was  complimentary  —  so  much  so  that  the  land 
lord  bowed,  as  became  him,  and  said  a  few  words  about 
having  done  his  best,  The  young  man  had  the  easy  air 


HA  I    .\    1  I    U    HI    A  l:  1   § 

of  one  who  feel-  ipi'ite  :it  home.  Si  ill  il  was  only  D60e0- 
sary  to  watch  Stein's  manner  toward-  liim  to  be.  con 
vinced  that  this  guest  at  the  ta\« TH  was  looked  upon  as 
a  di-tinuMii-lied  personage,  lie  talked  familiarly  enough 
with  tlu-  landlord.  «|ue.-tioiiini:  him  with  a  li-tle.--  MUM 
of  intere.-t  r.nici-riiiui:  In.-al  malh-rs,  c.-jn-cially  tlu-  races; 
but  he  hud  the  Mylish  air  «.t'  a  man  of  tin-  world,  and 
Stein's  ol»r<[iiinn-  inaniu-r  was  uniuistakahlf.  Tin- 
stranger's  presence,  too,  seemed  to  exert  an  imposing  effect 
upon  the  bystanders.  Tin-  country  people  stared  at  him 
with  mingh-d  «  in  iosity  and  awe,  and  the  ambitious  city 
blades  who  had  chanced  to  exchange  a  few  words  with 
him  «>n  thr  race-course,  or  in  the  bar-room,  which  was 
the  general  lounging  plan-  of  the  town  guests,  evidently 
courted  his  further  notice  ;  but  tin-  former  he  seemed 
quite  unconscious  of,  and  although  he  returned  the  -alu- 
tatious  of  the  latter,  it  was  with  a  glance  of  surprise, 
or  a  good-humored  condescension,  which  were  more 
calculated  to  disconcert  than  to  encourage.  Only  pro 
fessed  jockeys  had  the  impudence  to  assume  an  air  of 
intimacy  in  bidding  him  good  night,  and  hi.-  careless 
response  was  so  much  in  the  >ame  tone  in  which  he 
would  have  addressed  his  hor.-e.  that  only  a  jockey  could 
be  flattered  by  it. 

He  sauntered  up  and  down  the  platform  a  lew  times 
after  his  short  conversation  with  Stein,  tapping  his  boots 
somewhat  all'ectedly  with  his  bamboo  stick,  then  jtau>ed 
again  in  the  open  doorway,  towards  which  the  landlord 
was  backing,  accompanying  the  action  with  a  neoeetiM 


OUTSTRIPPED    IN    THE    PACE.  37 

of  bows  and  scrapes  to  Ned  Knuckle  and  his  party,  who 
were  just  driving  off.  "  It  is  growing  cold,  Mr.  Stein, 
very  cold,"  said  the  young  man,  slightly  shivering  and 
buttoning  up  his  coat ;  —  it  was  a  military  coat,  and 
looked  more  military  still  as  he  buttoned  it  up  tight. 

"  Good  night !  you,  cap'n  ;  you ! "  shouted  Ned 
Knuckle,  in  drunken  recklessness  of  military  and  aris 
tocratic  prerogative. 

The  captain  gave  the  party  very  much  such  a  glance 
as  a  naturalist  might  bestow  upon  poor  specimens  of  a 
familiar  species  of  insect.  "  Hurrah  for  Ameriky !  " 
shouted  Ned,  and  the  captain  turned  away  in  apparent 
disgust. 

"  Cold,  Cap'n  Josselyn,  did  you  say  ?  "  said  Stein,  as 
anxiously  as  if  it  were  his  duty  to  apologize  for  the 
weather.  "  True,  it  is  very  cold." 

"  Is  the  fire  lit  in  my  room,  Mr.  Stein  ?  " 

'4-Fire  —  lit?  Well,  no,  I'm  afraid  not.  We'll  have 
it  done  in  a  twinkling.  Tea  there,  cap'n  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  In  half  an  hour,  say  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  convenient." 

"  Have  it  immediately,  sir  ;  "  and  Stein  bustled  out  in 
the  direction  of  the  kitchen,  while  Captain  Josselyn  walked 
up  stairs  to  his  room,  scattering  to  the  right  and  left, 
as  he  did  so,  a  flock  of  young  things  who  had  settled 
round  the  staircase  and  balusters,  and  who,  as  he  came 
up,  fled  to  the  bed-rooms  or  angles  in  the  passage,  not, 
however,  until  his  ears  had  been  assailed  by  the  nutter 
4 


38         ,  WAI? A  i  r.  i>    H  r  i  i;  rs. 

Of  garments,  And  many  a  ••Iln-h! —  quirk  !  There  In 
comes —  that's  the  cap'n  !  "  A:i'.,  accompanied  hv  a 
subdued  LrLrirle  ;  and  one  roiOQ  predominating  above  the 
raat,  and  MjiBg,  ".FoeJU  what  are  you  afraid  of? 

If  you  ouly  knew  him,  girls — why,  he's  as  perlite  as 
he  is  handsome  !  Law,  Cap'n  Josselyn,  I  didn't  know  a- 
you  was  within  hearin',"  and  Polly  Stein,  who  had  pur 
posely  stood  with  her  back  to  the  stairs  while  her  com 
panions  fled,  bolted  round  just  in  time  to  meet  the 
captain  t'a<v  to  fare  at  the  head  ol'thr  staircase. 

u  Ah  !  Mi-s  St. -in,  you  are  all  ready  for  the  hall,  I 
see  ;"  and  the  captain,  with  an  air  of  gallantry,  glanced 
approvingly  at  her  white  dress  and  tea-colored  shoes. 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  said  Polly,  with  a  toss  of  the  head. 
"  I  hope  you  mean  to  honor  the  ball  with  your  presence, 
Cap'n Josselyn ?"  She  spoke  with  a  bold  familiarity 
which  astonijhed  the  other  girls ;  but  then  she  lived, 
in  the  house,  and  knew  him  so  well. 

They  heard  him  answer,  "Certainly,  Miss  Stein,  and 
shall  hope  to  enjoy  a  dance  with  you.  Promise  me 
now." 

How  polite  he  was.  to  h«-  Mire!  How  they  all  »-nvied 
her!  and  how  triumphant  she  looked  when  .-he  came 
hack  after  •riving  the  promise  ! 

The   noise,  excitement,  and   hn-tle   that    had   prevailed 
ever 'since  noon    in  the   neighborhood  of  Stein's  Tavern 
was    now    concentrated    within    doors.      Only    two     men 
liii'jei-ed  on  the  front  platform   alter  Stein  and   hi- 
went   in.      The  younger  of  tlie-e  two  Tiad  Stood  for  some 


OUTSTRIPPED    IX    THE    It  ACE.  39 

minutes  gloomily  eying  the  captain.  "  Who  is  he,  any 
way  ? "  he  abruptly  inquired  of  his  companion,  as  the 
slight  military  figure  disappeared  from  view. 

"  They  call  him  cap'n,"  replied  the  party  thus  ad 
dressed, —  a  coarse,  clumsy  fellow,  with  a  dissipated  coun 
tenance  ;  "  but  I  guess  that's  somethin'  of  a  stretcher. 
He's  only  a  lieutenant,  if  my  information  's  sound." 

"  A  lieutenant  o'  what?  " 

"Of  His  Majesty's  roy'l  navy." 

u  A  Britisher,  then  !  and  an  enemy !  I  thought  as 
much." 

"  A  Britisher,  Mr.  George,  but  not  an  inemy.  He's 
laid  by  jest  now,  and  can't  fight.  Besides,  some  folks 
say  as  how  peace  is  goin'  to  be  declared  soon,  and  then 
we'll  all  be  friends  agin." 

"  O,  hang  the  peace  ! "  growled  Mr.  George,  "  and 
hang  me  if  ever  I'll  be  friends  with  such  a  puppy  as  that. 
What's  he  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Kind  of  amusin'  himself.  He's  a  gintleman  prisoner, 
yer  know,  on  a  prowl,  as  they  say,  —  leastways  has 
been.  I  believe  he's  been  swapped  off  fur  one  of  our 
men  lately,  an'  so's  free  to  come  an'  go  now." 

"  Amusing  himself  at  other  folks'  expense !  Devil 
take  him !  "  muttered  Mr.  George.  "  Why  don't  he 
go  if  he's  going?  He's  too  big  to  keep  company  with 
Jersey  folks.  Why  don't  he  take  himself  off?  " 

"  P'raps  he  will,"  said  the  man,  "  when  he  gets 
through  with  his  business  in  these  parts." 

"  Business  !  "    retorted    the    angry  youth.      "  Unless 


40  n.t  r  .\  i  i:  i>   H  i  A  i;  i  t. 

•.••it    better    I>u<ine-s    In   do    in    the    world    than  what 

••en  turning  his   hand   to   here.  1    wi.-h   <»ur  eonimo- 

tlorc   had    swung   him    up    at    tin-    yard    arm,    in-trad   of 

'.:ig  him  into  port.      I'd  like-  to  gi\c  him  a  piece  o' 

my    mind,     Nick,    in    a    hand    to    hand    light,"    and    the 

speaker  rlinrhrd  hi.-  list  as  he  spoke. 

••  Why.  Mr.  Geordie,"  said  Nick,  with  an  irritating 
sort  of  laugh,  "  what  great  harm  has  the  stranger  done 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Brought  my  mare  into  disgrace,  for  one  thing," 
an-wered  George,  "-though  that  ain't  tin-  chief  grudge 
1  ha\r  against  him  nrither,"  he  added  in  an  under  tone. 

M  Wai,  now,  'bout  your  mare,"  said  Nick,  in  a  con 
ciliatory  way,  "  that  was  clear,  sheer  accident,  wau't  it? 
—  je-t  a-  much  as  my  givin'  my  linger  a  drvil  oi'  a  jam 
in  a  ri-ark  <»'  tin-  harn  door.  Deuce  take  thr  plairuy 
tiling,  how  it  smarts  !  "  and  thi»  man,  as  he  spoke,  un 
wound  a  dirty  rag  from  the  wounded  mrmhrr.  examined 
the  festering  wound,  and  hound  it  clumsily  up  again." 

"  Accident  !  What  ?  his  presuming  to  mate  a  mean 
yellow-legged  brute  against  my  Nancy  r  " 

M  Xo,  not  that  ;  that  was  jest  thr  cap'u's, ignorance. 
1I«-'-  lived  at  Mfc,  yrr  remember — what  should  he  know 
'bout  bosses?  But  your  Nancy'-  Mnppin*  short  on  the 
conr-e.  an'  takin'  -teji-  to  the  tune  «>'  Vanki-«-  Doodle  — 
who'd  a  thought  "'  sieh  a  thing  as  that?" 

"  7  should."  re-|)onde<l  (  irorge.  promptly.  "Didn't  I 
bring  her  up  to  it?  It  \va-  one  of  her  accomplishments. 
I  I«r.v  -honld  I  know  -omehody  in  the  crowd  would 
whi-tle  In •!•  off  the  course?" 


OUTSTRIPPED    IN    THE    RACE.  41 

"  They  did  it,  p'raps,  by  way  o'  cheerin'  her  on," 
intimated  Nick.  "  It  was  showin'  a  preference  for 
Nancy  over  the  Britisher's  nag,  but  unfort'nately  it 
worked  the  other  way/' 

"Just  my  luck  ! "  said  George,  despondently.  "  There's 
always  somebody  stands  ready  to  cheer  me  on  to  ruin." 

"  'Cause  you're  so  good-natured,  Mr.  George.  You're 
jest  like  Miss  Nancy  —  ready  to  dance  to  everybody's 
tune." 

"  Good-natured,  am  I?  "  questioned  George,  his  boy 
ish  features  contracted  by  a  fierce  frown,  which  seemed 
sufficiently  to  contradict  Nick's  assertion. 

"  Wai,  not  jest  this  minute,"  replied  Nick,  with  his 
provoking  laugh,  and  following  the  direction  of  George's 
eyes,  which  were  fixed  on  an  object  coming  slowly 
down  the  cross  road.  "  You're  dead  set  agin  the 
Englishman  jest  now.  But  the  quarrel 's  all  on  one  side 
fur  's  I  can  see.  He  don't  scowl  on  you  partiklerly." 

"He?  O,  no!  he's  so  tall  he  sees  over  my  head." 
(Mr.  George  was  six  feet  high,  the  captain  a  little 
fellow.)  "  Besides  he's  too  much  taken  up  with  himself 
to  have  any  time  to  spare  for  other  folks.  A  peacock 
strutting  round  don't  mind  how  many  grasshoppers  he 
treads  on." 

"It's  a  fact,"  said  Nick,  "he's  mighty  indifferent  — 
the  most  free  an'  easy  chap  ever  I  see.  Lose  or  win 
it's  all  the  same  to  him  ;  he  don't  care." 

"  Then  he'd  better  look  out  how  he  interferes  with 
them  that  do,"  said  George ;  and  as  he  spoke  he  darted 
4* 


-l*J  HA  U  XT  ED    UKAUTH. 

forward,  hi-    •_•<•-!  mv   betraying  a   sudden    recognition   of 

tin-   ohjrct    \vho.-e   approach    he    had   ln-cil    Watching. 

It  was  an  old-fashioned  carryall  —  high,  narrow,  and 
rocking  to  and  t'ro  on  its  spring-  like  a  ,-hip  in  a  heavy 
-•  ••(.  A-  it  came  within  tin  circle  of  li-ht  which  radi 
ated  from  the  tavern  window.-,  the  poli-hed  In.-tiv  of  tin- 
door-handle,  of  thv  plati-d  har  that  f«.nin-d  a  lini-h  to  tin- 
da.-lii-r,  and  of  the  riug.s  in  the  horse's  harness,  bespoki- 
tin-  care  l>r-to\svd  njion  the  equipage;  and  though  tin- 
leather  of  the  carriage-top  was  rusty  brown,  and  the 
horse  old  and  blind  of  one  eye,  the  former  was  free  from 
'every  spot  of  the  red  Jersey  mud  with  which  every  other 
carriage-top  in  tin-  district  was  habitually  encrusted,  and 
the  latter,  however  much  he  might  have  loitered  on  the 
road,  had,  as  usual,  .-ullicient  spirit  in  reserve  at  the  end 
of  his  journey  to  dash  up  to  the  door  in  fine  style.  As 
the  arrival  of  this  decrepit,  but  still  genteel  e-tahlishment, 
never  failed  to  produce  a  sensation,  it  was  not  strange 
that  Mr.  George  should  dart  forward,  that  the  attentive 
landlord  should  be  on  hand  to  welcome  the  occupants, 
and  that  still  a  third  person,  hearing  the  sound  of  tin- 
wheels,  should  run  down  stairs  to  assist  the  party  in 
alighting. 

Stein,  bareheaded,  and  looking,  in  his  loose-fitting 
brown  suit,  very  much  like  a  crumpled  autumn  leaf, 
stood  bowing  on  the  platform,  before  the  small  boy,  who 
olliciated  as  coachman,  could  climb  down  and  open  the 
carriage  door. 

"  Welcome,  very    welcome,   Mr.   Cousin  !  "    he    said, 


OUTSTRIPPED    IN    THE   RACE.  43 

addressing  a  spry  little  gentleman  in  a  powdered  wig, 
surmounted  by  a  three-cornered  beaver,  who,  as  he 
leaned  forward  and  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  to 
give  unintelligible  directions  to  the  boy  concerning 
the  management  of  the  rickety  door-handle,  contrived  to 
obscure  whomever  else  the  carriage  might  contain. 
"  You  keep  genteel  hours,  Mr.  Cousin ;  but  then  you're 
always  genteel !  —  none  the  less  welcome  for  being  late, 
though  every  body  else  has  come,  and  we'd  almost  given 
you  up." 

Here  Stein,  whose  sharp  eyes  had  been  peering  dili 
gently  into  the  carriage,  caught  sight  of  a  bit  of  pink  silk 
hood,  and  announced  his  discovery  in  the  words :  "  Ah, 
Miss  Angie,  you're  there,  I  see  !  I  was  beginning  to 
think  we  should  need  to  light  extra  lamps  if  your  bright 
eyes  were  to  be  among  the  missing ;  but  you've  come 
at  last.  The  last  drop's  always  the  sweetest,  you 
know  ; "  and  old  Stein  smacked  his  lips  as  if  he  were 
thirsty,  and  had  recognized  in  the  pink  hood  something 
to  drink. 

Here  the  carriage  door  unexpectedly  flew  open,  com 
pelling  the  landlord  to  retreat  a  step  or  two,  the  little 
old  gentleman  in  the  cocked  hat  fell  back  into  his  own 
corner,  —  the  farther  corner,  —  and  a  figure  wrapped  in 
an  old-fashioned  silk  mandarin,  topped  by  a  jaunty  little 
hood,  made  a  quick  motion  to  alight.  As  she  did  so, 
she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Mr.  George,  whose 
manly  form  and  bold  movement,  as  he  stepped  up  beside 
the  carriage,  were  in  strange  contrast  with  the  timid, 


44  n  .(  i  .\  /  /  1 1   it  i.  A  i;  /•$. 

beseeching  look  with  which  In-  met  her  eye.  l4.-t'«-! 
could  respond  i«»  it.  cither  by  smile  or  frown,  befoiv  she 
could  even  trip  down  tin-  step-  (there  wa>  quite  a  little 
Mairca>c  of  them),  all  communication  hetwccii  herself 
ami  Mr.  (ieorge  was  intercepted.  A  light.  acti\e  figure 
had  come  hetween  thriu  :  a  civil  "  KNCU.M-  inc.  young 
man  !  .-land  aside  a  lilllc.  it'  y»n  plea-e  !  "  had  effectually 
disconcerted  Mr.  George ^  and  with  an  adroit,  lint  ^racc- 
f'nl  and  c.Mirtly  manner,  the  military  stran-cr  had  caught 
the  ynim;_r  Lrii-r>  hantl  and  drawn  it  thnui^h  his  arm.  At 
the  same  time.  althoiiLrh  his  other  arm  was  a  little  Mill. 
he  had  mana-ed  to  render  with  it  that  aid  and  civility  to 
the  old  gentleman  in  the  powdered  wig,  \\liieh  i-  he 
mming  i'rom  youth  to  age,  and  had  convoyed  hi>  daugh 
ter  within  the  doorway.  whi>j>ering  in  her  ear  a  well- 
turned  compliment.  In  a  word,  he  had  taken  complete 
possession  of  the  pri/.e,  and,  though  a  liv.-h  actor  in 
the  scene,  had  reduced  all  competitors  to  the  rank  ol' 
snjH-rnnmeraries.  Of  course  she  ITM  immensely  Hai 
ti  red.  It  \\a<  such  a  tribute  to  her  charms.  To  what 
other  girl  in  New  .ler.M-y  would  thi-  young  aristocrat 
ha\e  shown  such  condescension?  For  a  moment  vanity 
(piiti-  jiaraly/ed  every  other  emotion.  What  mu-t  (leor- 
die  think  at  seeing  her  the  object  of  so  much  gallantry? 
was  a  natural  query  in  this  connection.  She  could  not 

;  giving  one  look  to  see  how  he  took  it. 
lie  evidently  took  it  hard.      11«-  wa-  leaning  against  the 

d --|M.-t.    with     his    arm-     folded;    the    timid    eSprOBSiOD 

was  gone  out  of  his  face,  his  lips  were  set  tight,  his 


OUTSTRIPPED    IN    THE   RACE.  45 

attitude  was  dogged,  and  his  eye  dangerous.  Some 
girls  would  have  been  frightened  at  seeing  him  so  moved, 
but  not  Angie;  She  knew  her  power  ;  there  was  coquetry 
in  her,  and  courage,  so  she  took  the  offensive. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  cross,  Geordie?"  she  found 
time  to  say,  as  she  passed  him  in  the  doorway. 

There  was  no  time  for  an  answer,  —  a  spoken  answer 
at  least,  —  but  he  started,  and  glared  fiercely  at  her,  as  a 
mastiff  might  do  when  struck.  She  answered  him  with 
a  glance  of  scornful  rebuke.  He  sunk  under  it,  subdued, 
as  the  faithful  mastiff  is  subdued  when  he  discovers  that 
it  is  a  master's  hand  which  has  dealt  the  blow.  Did  I 
say  the  girl  knew  her  power?  No,  she  only  half  knew 
it.  She  knew  she  could  anger ;  she  believed  she  could 
soothe  him.  She  little  suspected  that  while  triumphing 
over  the  man  she  was  evoking  the  brute.  She  saw  the 
fire  in  his  eye,  and  was  proud  of  the  heart  she  held  in  her 
hand.  Had  she  seen  the  poor  fellow  shrink  mortified  be 
neath  her  scorn,  she  would  have  felt  that  there  is  some 
thing  degrading  in  a  love  that  may  be  trampled  on  at  will. 

Geordie  felt  it.  As  he  turned  his  back  on  the  light, 
and  the  mirth,  and  the  woman  he  loved,  and  dashed 
out  in  the  direction  of  the  cold,  dark  stable,  he  was  less  a 
man  than  he  had  been  a  few  moments  before.  Hate, 
revenge,  desperate  resolve,  all  those  evil  passions  that 
degrade  humanity,  were  rampant  in  him.  His  soul  was 
imbittered  against  the  world,  his  fellow-men,  his  destiny  ; 
but  that  was  not  the  worst  of  it.  He  despised  himself. 
He  had  sunk  one  step  lower  in  his  own  esteem.  Scarce 


46  HAUNTKI>    m:\RTS. 

:  where  he  went,  he  made  for  the  stable,  strolled 
into  an  empty  .-tall,  ami  tlnv\v  himself  down  on  some 
fresh  hay.  As  he  sat  with  his  chin  resting  on  his  knees, 
and  listened  to  the  breathing  of  some  tired  horses  (his 
own  amoni:  the  iv.-t).  who  had  .-prut  their  strrnirth  in 
that  day's  rare,  and  failed  to  win.  thr  sum  of  his  reflec 
tions  was,  "  Just  such  a  poor  beast  am  I." 


DOUBTFUL    VALUE    OF   GEORGE'S   FRIENDS.  47 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    DOUBTFUL   VALUE    OF    GEORGE'S    FRIENDS. 

"  O  ANGIE  !  is  that  you  ?  How  glad  I  am  you've 
come ! "  was  the  universal  salutation,  as  this  young 
woman  entered  one  of  the  waiting-rooms  above  stairs, 
and  throwing  back  her  hood,  revealed  a  bright  face, 
beaming  with  smiles.  The  welcome  was  sincere,  and, 
if  not  wholly  disinterested,  Angie  was  too  conscious  of 
popularity  to  be  very  critical  as  to  motives.  "  I've  been 
waiting.  Angie,  to  get  you  to  tie  this  ribbon ! "  "  O 
Angie,  I'm  so  worried  with  my  back  hair !  "  "  Dear 
me,  Angie,  this  curl  sticks  right  out  straight  !  " 
"  Couldn't  you  put  this  pin  in  for  me,  so  that  it  would 
stay  put,  Angie  ?  "  Such  were  the  appeals  to  her  skill 
and  good  nature  that  greeted  her  on  every  side,  before 
she  had  time  to  throw  off  her  own  wrappings  and  take 
a  look  at  herself  in  the  mirror.  A  moment,  and  a 
glimpse,  however,  sufficed  for  Angie.  All  was  right 
with  her  own  toilet,  and  her  magic  fingers  were  ready 
to  give  the  finishing  touch  to  that  of  her  companions. 
She  could  tie  a  knot,  pin  up  a  turban,  or  dress  a  head 


H  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

with  tlowor<  a-  -kilfnlly  as  any  milliner,  and  could  reduce 
a  crooked  pin.  a  bent  comb,  or  a  refractory  curl  to  obe 
dience,  a-  ea-ilv  a-  -he  could  sot  a  fa.-hion.  coax  her 
father,  or  subdue  a  lover.  So  she  passed  from  one  to 
another,  oxen-inn;:  her  fairy  gifts,  and  rcoriviM-j-  pay  for 
her  services  in  such  little  gratniti* -  a-.  M  That'-  rLrht  ! 
make  it  look  just  like  yours  !  My,  what  a  knack  you've 
got !  O  Angie,  if  I  only  had  your  faculty  !  "  And  now 
and  then  the  whi-peivd  assurance,  "Angie,  you  area 
beauty,  and  no  mi-take  !  " 

This  last  was  true  enough.  Not  one  of  these  New 
Jersey  girls  could  compare  with  Angie.  Still,  somehow 
they  all  felt  happier  and  better  looking  for  her  presence. 
She  had  the  rare  power  of  omittin'_r  pleasure  while  she 
absorbed  admiration.  Tim-  -he  was  at  once  the  belle 
of  the  district  and  tin-  favorite  of  her  own  sex. 

The  secret  of  this  double  success  lay  partly  in  the  fact 
that  Nature  had  endowed  Angcvinc  Cousin  with  qualities 
to  which  her  associates  had  no  pretension,  and  ,-o  had 
placed  her  beyond  rivalry. 

An-ie  was  not  a  native  of  New  Jersey,  but  an  exotic. 
and  a  rare  one.  Her  mother,  long  since  dead,  ua-  a 
New  Knidand  woman,  of  Strict  Puritan  birth  and  train 
ing  :  lint  her  father  was  a  Frenchman,  had  passed  most 
of  his  life  in  the  atmosphere,  if  not  the  society,  of  the 
i-i'i/iin>\  and  maintained,  rven  in  his  old  avre, 
of  the  wit  ami  the  deportment  of  a  true  Pari,— 
ian.  Not  that  In-  hoa-ted  title  or  patrician  blood.  'Far 
from  it.  lie  niijiht  have  been  secretary,  steward,  or 


DOUBTFUL    VALUE    OF    GEORGE'S    FRIENDS.  49 

more  likely  still,  valet  or  courier,  to  the  noble  marquis 
whom  he  simply  claimed  to  have  served.  What  did  it 
matter  ?  He  had  the  reputation  of  an  upright  man,  and 
the  manners  of  a  gentleman  —  sufficient  credentials, 
certainly,  in  a  democratic  country ;  at  all  events,  they 
had  served  his  turn. 

Whether  Angie's  character  possessed  the  sterling  vir 
tues  of  her  mother's  race  as  a  background,  experience 
had  not  yet  proved ;  but  her  exterior  traits,  personal 
accomplishments,  all  her  superficial  qualities,  whether 
faults  or  graces,  betrayed  at  once  the  paternal  extrac 
tion.  She  had  all  that  vivacity,  good  humor,  and 
genius  which  the  French  comprehend  under  the  general 
term  "  esprit"  and  whoever  escaped  the  attraction  of  her 
beauty,  was  sure  to  be  captivated  by  her  winning  ways. 
Strictly  speaking,  Angie  was  not  the  handsomest  girl  of 
the  neighborhood.  Farmer  Rycker  had  a  buxom  daugh 
ter,  a  Hebe  of  freshness  and  bloom  ;  and  the  justice  of  the 
peace  from  the  neighboring  village  (himself  a  bachelor), 
always  brought  with  him  to  the  tavern  balls  his  favorite 
niece,  a  delicate  miss,  with  as  fair  a  complexion  and 
regular  features  as  a  London  doll.  Even  Polly  Stein  — 
herself  a  long -favored  girl,  of  an  unhealthy  pallor  — 
could  gratify  her  occasional  spite  against  Angie,  by 
insinuations  upon  her  low  forehead  and  brown  skin. 

What  was  it  then  in  Angie  which  defied  the  lines  of 

beauty  and  the  spite  of  Polly   Stein?     Who   shall  tell 

what  it  was?     It  was  that  nameless   something  which 

exhales  from  the  flower,  and  glistens  in  the  dew-drop, 

5 


50  HAUNT  I   h    II  l  A  i;  TS. 

and  floats  on  the  butterfly'^  wing.  It  \vas  a  complete 
individuality  of  character,  which  freshened  the  social 
atmosphere  in  which  -he  lived;  a  play  of  feature.  BO 
sparkling  ami  so  rnpnl  as  t«.  make  her  lace  the  imme 
diate  reflection  of  her  thought  ;  a  harmony  of  motion 
which  rendered  every  little  action  of  her  lite  a  grace. 
Bven  the  beauty  of  the  other  girls  had  in  it  a  certain 
awkwardness  and  exaggeration.  It  had  taken  them  by 
surprise,  and  they  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it.  But 
nature  had  endowed  Augie  by  degrees,  and  made  her 
perfect  mistress  of  her  own  charms.  There  was  nothing 
out  of  proportion  in  her  face  or  figure,  and  her  very 
attractions,  whether  innate  or  artificial,  were  -o  Mended 
and  toned  down  as  never  to  offend  the  taste.  Curl-  were 
the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  must  l>e  had  at  any  labor 
or  COet,  Antic's  cost  her  nothing  ;  they  were  licit  her 
ringlets  nor  corkscrew  curls  :  they  were  neither  twi.-ted 
up  in  papers  at  night,  nor  singed  with  hot  tongs  by  day; 
the  glossy  black  locks,  which  a  single  stroke  of  the  brush 
could  straighten,  would  be  rolled  into  fashion  again  by  the 
fir-t  breeze,  or  be  ma-.-ed  in  wavy  folds  by  the  moisture 
of  the  dew  at  nightfall.  They  could  be  likened  to  noth 
ing  but  the  soft  drooping  ears  of  the  spaniel,  and.  thrown 
back  from  her  forehead  (Tolly  wa<  right  about  her  fore- 
hea. 1.  which  was  rather  low),  they  formed  the  richest  of 
coronet-.  The  bright  scarlet  poppies  and  sprigs  of 
golden  wheat  with  which  she  had  adorned  her  head  for 
the  ball,  peeped  out  from  the  luxuriant  depth-  a-  if  they 
had  irrown  and  ripened  then-,  knew  they  were  pretty,  and 


DOUBTFUL    VALUE    OF   GEORGE'S   FRIENDS.  51 

felt  at  home.  Angie  was  partial  to  scarlet,  a  color  which 
suited  her  brunette  complexion.  She  liked  to  mingle  it 
with -her  dark  hair  ;  and  when  her  dress  was  white,  as  on 
the  present  evening,  the  strong  contrast  had  the  effect  of 
heightening  and  intensifying  her  bloom.  In  accordance 
with  this  taste,  she  now  wore  a  broad  silken  sash  or  scarf 
of  this  brilliant  color,  enriched  at  each  end  by  figures 
wrought  in  gold,  and  emblematic  of  some  office  or  order 
—  the  insignia,  perhaps,  of  the  ancient  marquis,  whom 
Mr.  Cousin  had  served  in  his  younger  days.  This  showy 
bit  of  finery,  a  memento  of  his  patron's  grandeur,  which 
Angie  had  found  in  an  old  trunk,  and  coaxed  from  her 
father  for  this  very  occasion,  was  sported  over  one  shoul 
der  and  carelessly  knotted  beneath  her  arm,  its  long 
fringed  ends  floating  off,  and  relieving  the  scantiness  of 
her  dress,  made  extremely  narrow,  as  was  then  the 
mode.  Most  girls  would  have  been  awed  by  the  mere 
thought  of  thus  shining  in  borrowed  plumage  ;  but  Angie 
had  the  courage  of  a  marchioness  in  the  matter  of  dress, 
and  confident  that  this  stray  patent  of  nobility  produced 
a  becoming  effect,  she  wore  her  honors  with  as  assured 
an  air  as  if  "to  the  manner  born." 

There  was  no  lack  of  white  dresses  in  the  room.  Still 
Angie's  was  exceptional,  both  in  material  and  style. 
The  others  were  of  cambric,  with  one  or  two  coarse 
specimens  of  East  Indian  fabric  ;  Angie's  was  a  delicate 
muslin,  wrought  in  sprigs  at  intervals,  and  with  a  deep 
flounce  wrought  throughout. 

"  O,"  it  may  be  said,  "  that  is  an  invidious  compari- 


62  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

son!  Ono  white  dress  is  as  brooming  as  another ; 
besides,  Angle's  is  only  an  old  relic,  —  her  matrrnnl 
grandmother's  wedding-gown,  bleached  up  for  tin-  «»cea- 
sion." 

No  matter  for  that  :  we  are  enumerating  <>ur  heroine's 
marks  of  superiority,  not  tracing  tlinn  t<»  their  source, 
so  the  drc-s-  nui-t  count;  besides,  is  it  notliing  to  ha\e 
come  of  re-pectahle  Mock,  and  to  have  had  a  grand 
mother  ? 

So  much  had  nature  and  eircnm-tance-  dour  I'm-  An-no. 

•~ 

A  motherless  and  prttrd  child,  she  liad  grown  up  very 
much  as  the  birds  and  the  flowers  grow  :  she  had  ripened, 
without  much  interference  or  training  from  any  body. 
It  is  safr.  then.  1o  attribute  to  Nature  most  of  the  qualities 
wliieli  distinguished  her.  lint  Nature  j.lays  strange  freaks 
—  unaccountable  ones,  at  lea<t.  What  could  be  the  rea 
son  that  Angie — and  many  another  girl,  lor  that  matter, 
for  it  is  a  streak  that  runs  in  the  blood  of  not  a  few  of 
her  sex  —  treate.l  every  body  well,  except  that  person  in 
the  world  who  loved  her  brst,  and  whom  she  in  her  heart 
loved  best  in  return.  Ever  since  Angle's  mother  died,  and 
Mr.  Cousin,  yearning  for  a  more  genial  climate  than  that 
of  New  England,  bought  the  land  next  to  fanner  Uawlc's. 
and  brought  his  daughter,  then  >i\  years  old.  to  live  in 
New  Jer-ey,  ( lenrgr  IJawle  had  drilled  tin-  child  ;  and  ever 
since  that  infant  period.  An-jie  had  been  a  most  tyranni 
cal  and  capricious  little  goddMfc  Was  it  not  enough  that 
In-  had  always  been  her  ready  champion  and  protector; 
that  from  the  time  when  he  led  her  by  the  hand  to  school, 


DOUBTFUL     VALUE    OF    GEOliGE'S   FRIENDS.  53 

or  climbed  the  highest  trees,  and  carved  her  name  on  the 
topmost  branch,  to  the  period  of  riper  affection,  when 
their  voices  had  mingled  in  the  Sunday  choir,  and  the 
strength  of  his  manhood  had  been  hers  to  lean  upon ; 
that  through  all  the  days  of  boyish  worship,  youthful  gal 
lantry,  and  manly  ardor,  he  had  still  been  her  willing 
slave  ?  Why  need  she  put  him  to  further  test  ?  Why 
must  she  vex  him  by  her  whims,  and  torture  him  with 
doubts  of  her  love  ?  Why  must  she  now  and  then  affect 
indifference  to  his  presence,  frown  on  his  pretensions,  and 
send  him  from  her  angry,  that  he  might  come  back  peni 
tent  ?  To  every  other  friend  she  was  equal  in  her 
cordiality.  She  had  her  own  way  with  them  all,  but 
she  won  it  by  affectionate  arts.  She  teased  and  cajoled 
her  father,  she  lorded  it  over  the  ancient  negress,  who 
otherwise  ruled  her  father's  house  ;  but  her  wands  of 
empire  were  wreathed  with  caresses  and  laughter.  Geor- 
die  was  more  to  her  than  all  the  rest,  and  she  was  all 
the  world  to  Geordie.  Must  she  then  make  herself  hate 
ful  to  him  that  he  might  love  her  the  more  ?  O,  no  ;  she 
was  safe  on  that  score.  When  she  humbled  Geordie  he 
always  hated  himself,  poor  fellow  !  —  he  never  hated  her. 
But  was  it  equally  safe  for  Geordre  ?  By  no  means.  It 
may  be  doubted  whether  even  the  treachery  of  his  uncle 
Stein  was  more  undermining  to  the  young  man's  strength 
of  character.  It  unsettled  him.  It  prevented  him  from 
applying  himself  steadily  to  any  occupation  at  home.  It 
robbed  him  of  the  energy  to  go  abroad  and  seek  some 
wider  field  of  action.  The  period  when  he  was  under 
5* 


54  //  i  /   \  r  i:  i>   n  HARTS. 

the  hail  of  An.L'ie's  di-plea<mv.  real  or  imaginary,  'he 
hours  succeedin::  iln>.-e  when  In-  hail  been  the  \ii-tim 
of  sonii-  caprice  on  her  part.  Win  pivci-ely  the  seasons 
wliiMi  he  was  .-lire  to  COine  in  tin-  way  (if  temptation, 
and  prove  powerless  to  resist  it.  The  iiriifhlmrlmod 
of  M»  in'-  Plains  had  —  as  what  place  on  earth  has  not 
—  many  a  snare  and  pitfall  for  a  youth  whose  natural 
ainhition  and  spirits  found  no  vent  in  steady  pnrpo-es 
of  u-efulnc.-s.  Had  Angie  reflected  on  the  subject  she 
might  have  found  increasing  causes  of  complaint  in  the 
nature  of  George's  pursuits  and  the  di  — ipation  of  his 
time.  She  might  have  argued  that  true  affection  would 
never  suffer  him  to  linger  in  idleness,  so  long  as  po\niv 
stood  between  him  and  the  object  of  his  love  :  hut  the 
same  prudent  line  of  argument  would  have  su.LrLre-ted  to 
her  whether  she  had  not  the  power  to  cheek  him  in  a 
OOtKVe  of  tollies,  and  spur  him  on  to  nobler  enterprise-. 
As  it  was,  though  sen-it ive  to  his  danger,  she  seldom 
took  him  to  task  on  the  highest  grounds  ;  and  though 
piqued  at  his  inellieieney  in  the  art  of  earning  a  liveli 
hood,  she  gave  no  consistent  enoouruirement  to  his  in 
dustry. 

Fortunately,  for  the  continuance  of  their  mutual  rela 
tions,  Ge'orge  had,  until  recently,  been  -pared  the  panir- 
of  ri\alry.  In  the  little  ,-pherc  of  their  dailv  life,  An;jie 
'•arcely  more  preeminent  than  himself.  In  a  demo 
cratic  country,  and  a  rural  di-triet,  the  social  lines  are  not 
very  di-tinctly  drawn;  and  in  circle-  \\heiv  none  hear 
marks  of  hiirh  poli.-h.  the  rougher  and  liner  grades  of 


DOUBTFUL    VALUE   OF   GEORGE'S   FRIENDS.     55 

material  may  mingle  without  much  grating.  Still,  there 
arc  always  prejudices,  if  not  distinctions,  of  birth  and 
blood,  and  George  was,  or  at  least  Nature  meant  him  to 
be,  the  best  specimen  of  the  best  stock  in  the  Jerseys. 
There  were  plenty  of  rough  hands  for  work,  broad  backs 
for  burdens,  and  stout  limbs  for  patient  endurance  among 
the  sons  of  the  soil ;  but  there  was  not  such  another 
handsome  athlete  as  the  widow  Rawle's  boy.  It  hardly 
seemed  as  if  Nature  could  have  meant  his  fine  form  to 
be  bent  over  a  plough,  his  acute  senses  to  be  narrowed 
down  to  the  width  of  the  furrow,  his  clarion  voice  to  be 
exercised  in  the  steering  of  oxen.  At  all  events  he 
doubted  their  being  bestowed  for  these  purposes,  and 
early  evinced  his  preference  for  taming  a  horse,  carrying 
a  gun,  and  making  the  woods  ring  with  his  halloo  or  his 
song.  Pie  simply  followed  his  instincts,  quite  forgetting 
that  God  made  the  first  man  a  farmer,  and  never  made 
any  man  to  be  an  idler.  His  instincts  were  destined  to 
lead  him  into  trouble,  but  that  was  not  their  apparent 
tendency.  They  brought  him  only  pleasure  and  praise 
in  the  beginning.  A  daring  boy,  a  capital  shot,  a  glori 
ous  bass  voice,  will  always  have  their  admirers.  Break 
ing  vicious  colts  was  not  a  very  profitable  business  in 
those  days,  and  had  never  been  dreamed  of  as  a 
profession ;  still,  it  furnished  exciting  occupation,  and 
was  not  without  its  reward,  especially  when  a  knot  of 
rustics  stood  agape  with  astonishment,  and  Angie  perhaps 
looked  on,  her  little  heart  all  in  a  flutter  of  fear,  but 
nothing  but  triumph  in  her  eyes.  What  satisfaction 


5G  WAUJTTML   it  i.  A  /.-  / 

theiv  Wa>  tun  in  seeing  her  stroke  tin-  feather.-  of  the  wild 
duck-  lie  lipMi-jflii  t<>  Mr.  Cou-in'-  kitchen,  measuring  the 
young  sportMiian  and  his  -un  \\itli  ill-concealed  pride, 
while  she  said,  u  Poor  things  !  How  cruel  in  you  to  kill 
them,  Geordie  !  " ' 

"O,  you  go 'Ion- !  "  old  Happy  Iioo-e  would  say  on 
such  occasion-.  ••  Ma--a  (iron:,,  knows  tender  game 
I'll-  >iLrlit.  an'  ha-  no  ma.-.-y  :  In-  aiin>  ri-ht  at  tin  heart. 
an'  hit.-.  So  you  «:«»  'lon^  out  <•'  my  kitchen,  both  on  yer. 
Ole  Hap  ain't  a  ^nn  to  havi-  no  shootiu*  here  —  haw! 
haw  I  haw  :  " 

That  AIILMC-  >hould  laugh  and  George  blush  at  such 
an  effusion  on  Happy's  part,  seems  a  n  \t  r-al  of  the  pro 
prieties  ;  iK'MTthrlcss,  such  was  usually  the  result  ot  any 
reference  to  a  M-ntiim-nt  which  the  weaker  party  trifled 
with,  while  it  reduced  the  bold  hunter  to  more  than  girl 
ish  helplessness. 

The  active  nature  of  George's  pursuits,  the  disinter 
estedness  with  which  he  lent  himself  to  the  service  of 
others,  mi'jht,  and  did  for  a  long  time,  blind  him  to  any 
deficiency  in  his  plan  of  lile.  Strong,  i-lastir.  and  profli 
gate  of  his  Iri-nre.  Nature  and  his  neighbors  I'm-nislu'd 
.him  with  oeenpation  through  the  week,  and  on  Sunday  the 
minister  nii-ht  alino.-t  as  well  have  been  di-jieii.-cd  witli 
from  the  pulpit  as  George  from  the  viMa-j.-  choir.  What 
wonder  that,  from  the  period  of  youth  to  that  of  manhood. 
yomiLr  Kawle  should,  without  vanity,  believe  him-elf 
iiidi-pen-al»1t'  to  .-ocicty.  and  forget  wliat  was  due  to  hi- 
futnre 


DOUBTFUL   VALUE    OF   GEORGE'S    FRIENDS.    57 

Such  a  career  may  continue  for  a  while  unchallenged 
and  unblamed,  but  there  comes  a  time  when,  if  a  youth 
is  not  alive  to  his  own  deficiencies,  there  is  no  lack  either 
of  advice  or  blame  on  the  part  of  relatives  and  friends. 
It  was  now  two  or  three  years  since  George  Rawle  had 
reached  such  a  crisis,  and  had  allowed  it  to  pass  unim 
proved.  His  mother's  querulous  complaints  had  long  ago 
given  place  to  secret  sighs  and  almost  to  despair ;  his 
uncle  Stein's  sly  intimations  had  ripened  into  cutting  sar 
casm,  and  his  uncle  Baultie  Rawle  had  ceased  to  expostu 
late,  rebuke,  or  threaten  ;  had  turned  his  back  upon  his 
dead  brother's  son,  steeled  his  heart  against  him,  and 
even  —  so  rumor  said  —  forbidden  him  to  cross  his 
threshold. 

Did  George  deserve  all  this?  By  no  means.  And 
yet  the  young  man's  best  friends  had  not  been  without 
provocation  and  discouragement.  Whether  through  his 
fault,  or  otherwise,  every  attempt  to  give  him  a  start  in 
the  world  had  ended  in  failure.  There  was  a  proposal 
at  one  time  to  send  him  to  New  Hampshire  to  purchase 
cattle,  and  Baultie  Rawle,  who  had  an  eye  to  the  main 
chance,  and  approved  the  project,  was  ready  to  advance 
sufficient  capital ;  but  just  as  it  was  time  to  leave  home, 
George,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  declined  the 
commission  and  abandoned  the  enterprise.  Not  long 
after  thcte  was  a  vacancy  in  the  village  store, — :the 
only  one  within  three  miles,  and  a  thriving  concern. 
The  principal  in  the  business  cast  his  eye  upon  George  ; 
all  the  villagers  sanctioned  the  choice.  He  had  a  good 


11  I  i  \  11.  1>  II  I   1 


t'nr  busiues<.  and  would  make  a  popular  -air-man. 
Aunt  Hannah  Hawle  engaged  t<>  d«>  all  her  twding  there. 
MI  diil  manv  of  Gtaofge'fl  iVii-nd-  who  lived  at  a  di.-tanee, 
and  liad  been  aOdUrtomed  to  patronize  other  ••groe.-r\ 
and  ireneral  finding  stores."  The  arrangement  was  siip- 
po-M-d  to  !>••  -at  i.-faetorily  completed.  when  suddenly  the 
owner  withdrew  his  partial  overtures  to  George,  pre 
tended  to  doubt  for  a  wliile  whether  he  ,-hould  want  an 
a  —  iMant,  and  ended  by  giving  the  appointment  to  IVter 
Stein. 

George  was  mortified  ;  the  more  so,  becau>e  he  had  put 
a  constraint  upon  his  inclinations  in  ever  consenting  t«» 
accept  the  plaee.  It  was  many  month-  bet'oiv  any  other 
opening  offered  itself  for  him.  and  he  showed  no  di-]><>  i- 
tion  to  seek  employment.  At  length  a  proposition  l<>r 
building  a  certain  corduroy  road  in  Virginia  was  laid 
before  the  public.  Baultie  IJawle  assumed  a  portion  of 
the  contract,  and  once  more  showed  a  willinun<v--  to  put 
his  nephew  forward,  though  with  less  alaeriiy  and  elieer- 
t'nlness  than  on  former  occasions,  lie  appointed  him 
overseer  of  the  work,  but  math'  him  subordinate  to  his 
uncle  Stein,  who  had  the  pureha.-iuir  "''  tin-  o\eii  and 
tools,  and  the  principal  disbursing  of  funds.  In  the  labor 
attendinL'  thi-  enterprise  George  endured  great  hard 
ships,  and  endured  them  manfully,  but  got  little  eivdit 
for  his  efforts.  His  WmgOni  ffOTe  too  old  ami  li;  lit  for 
the  woi-k,  and  either  broke  down  or  got  set  in  the  clayey 
soil.  Mo-t  of  tin-  oxen  died  of  a  COntaglOQfl  di-ea-e.  and 
the  tpeCOlatiOD  ended  di.-a-tron-l\-.  Knultie,  who  was 


DOUBTFUL    VALUE   OF  GEORGE'S  FRIENDS.    59 

tight-fisted  in  money  matters,  and  had  latterly  been  dis 
trustful  of  George,  .reproached  him  with  managing  the 
business  badly,  and  neglecting  and  abusing  the  cattle, 
and  even  went  so  far  as  to  hint  at  his  having  possibly 
disposed  of  the  latter  for  his  own  benefit.  It  was  a 
singular  coincidence,  that  all  Diedrich  Stein's  rickety 
farm-wagons  disappeared  from  his  place  this  year,  and 
that  the  only  yoke  of  oxen  which  he  reserved  for  himself 
out  of  the  large  stock  which  he  had  disposed  of  to  Baul- 
tie,  died  that  season  of  the  very  disease  which  crippled 
and  ruined  the  road-building  teams  ;  but  those  persons 
who  knew  the  fact  made  light  of  it ;  and  it  did  not  even 
reach  the  ears  of  George.  If  it  had,  he  would  have  been 
too  proud,  perhaps,  to  defend  himself  by  casting  asper 
sions  on  another.  So  he  bore  the  blame  at  the  expense, 
it  must  be  confessed,  of  his  temper,  and  of  all  the  love 
and  respect  he  had  once  felt  for  his  uncle  Rawle. 

George  certainly  had  enemies  among  those  who  should 
have  been  his  friends.  It  was  not  the  less  certain  that 
the  love  of  her  who  should  have  been  his  best  friend  might 
almost  as  well  have  been  enmity  as  the  mischief-working 
thing  that  it  was.  It  was  her  unjust  complaint  of  his 
willingness  to  leave  her,  and  a  quarrel  that  ensued,  which 
caused  him  to  relinquish  his  journey  to  New  Hampshire. 
With  her  pride  stung  to  the  quick  by  his  disappointment 
in  regard  to  the  clerkship  in  a  country  store,  she  let  fall 
remarks  so  disparaging  to  this  kind  of  labor  as  to  confirm 
George's  disgust  for  trade  in  all  its  branches.  When  he 
returned  from  Virginia  after  a  three  months'  absence,  she 


GO  HA  r  \  TI:  n   it  r  t  /:  rs. 


BO  :i:rai«l  In-  \\niilil  know  IH.W  Ldad  she  \ 
him  that  >hc  feigned  utier  indifference.  and  BO  n-bbed 
him  of  the  only  reward  In-  liad  counted  on  after  his 
tedious  absence.  At  Id  to  this  those  numerous  minor 
I'rt-aks  which  kept  him  always  on  the  rack  in  n-jard  t<> 
what  would  please  and  win  her.  and  Angle  miirht  almo-t 
be  included  in  the  catalogue  of  those  who  had  combined 
to  ruin  him. 

It  was  after  hi>  return  from  his  first,  and  what  threat 
ened  to  prove  his  last  campaign  in  the  Held  of  u<cfulue.-s. 
that  George  Rawle  began  to  fall  into  condemnation.  .  -\.  D 
in  the  eyes  of  woll-wishers.  and  the  public  ircnerally. 
The  occupations  oi'  his  leisure  hours  had  not  always 
l.el'ore  l»een  praiseworthy.  n«»r  his  deportment  blameless; 
still,  on  the  whole,  he  had  maintained  hi-  .-landing  in  lite. 
and  his  good  name  in  the  neighborhood.  But  it  wa>  when 
smarting  under  the  injustice  of  Banltie.  and  disheartened 
by  Angle's  coldness,  that  he  fell  into  had  company, 
then  into  deht,  and  finally  into  discredit.  It  was  by  the 
advice  of  the  first  in  order  to  retrieve  the  second,  and  in 
the  desperation  caused  by  the  third  of  the-e  e\  ;U  that  he 
resolved  to  stake  all  his  hopes  upon  the  beautiful  bea-t. 
which  now  seemed  his  only  friend.  lie  would  mate 
Nancy  against  his  past  ill  luck,  and  lo-e  or  Lrain  every 
thing. 

He  lost  ! 

There  was  but  one  thinir  wantini:  t"  complete  hi-;  mor 
tification  and  mi-cry,  and  that,  a>  we  have  -ecu,  was  at 
hand.  Kate  had  kept  her  worst  blow  until  the  critical 


DOUBTFUL    VALUE    OF    GEORGE'S   Fill  ENDS.     61 

moment,  and  now  stunned  him  with  a  rival.  In 
George's  estimation,  the  stranger's  presence  in  the 
neighborhood  at  all  was  an  intrusion,  his  pretensions 
insufferable,  the  talk  and  gossip  made  about  him  ridic 
ulous.  That  he  should  fall  in  love  with  Angie,  was 
a  matter  of  course  ;  had  he  been  a  king's  son  as  well  as 
an  aristocrat,  he  could  have  done  no  less,  so  Geordie 
thought ;  but  that  she  should  encourage  his  addresses, 
was  a  thing  he  had  not  bargained  for.  There  had  never 
been  a  time  when  he  could  have  endured  this  patiently, 
and  now,  when  he  was  at  a  disadvantage  every  way, 
Angie's  toleration  of  this  showy  stranger  was  gall  and 
wormwood  to  him.  The  captain's  presumption,  in  care 
lessly  mating  an  inferior  animal  with  his  Nancy  on  the 
course,  would  have  excited  his  ire  under  any  circumstan 
ces.  How  intense,  then,  was  his  mortification  and  rage 
at  his  own  accidental  defeat  and  the  unmerited  victory  of 
his  antagonist !  What  wonder  was  it  that,  since  success 
was  so  easy,  the  conceited  coxcomb  dared  to  step  between 
him  and  his  most  sacred  rights,  thrust  him  aside  as  if  ho 
had  been  a  worm,  and  bear  away  the  best  prize  life 
could  offer  to  any  man  ?  What  wonder,  since  every  thing 
else  had  turned  against  him,  that  Angie  had  given  her 
smiles  to  another,  and  with  a  look  of  scorn  had  annihi 
lated  him? 

This  last  was  a  thunder-bolt.     The  poor  fellow  was 

crushed   by    it,    Ijis    better    nature    crowded    down,    the 

worst  there  was  in  him  raging  blindly.     He  was  sure 

to  rise  again ;   there  was  power  in  him   still  for  good 

6 


HA  UN  TV  It    II I 

OF    for    evil;     sonic    iBgel-inflneBOi    IT    -»mn- 
demon  mi;:ht    v.  i    in-pin-    him   to   atoning  eflbrts  or    to 
deed>  of  darkness.     But  for  the   |>iv-i'nt    he  sat    crouched 
on  tlic  hay.   in    the    dark    Mal.le,    while    his    wliit»--lo\  ,-d 
ri\al  -tood  at  the  loot  of  the  Mjiii>,  \\aiting  to  lead  A 
into  the  ball-room. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    BALL.  63 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    CHRISTMAS    BALL. 

THE  kitchen  was  the  ball-room,  —  not  the  outer 
kitchen  or  pantry,  where  all  day  long  Stein's  wife  had 
been  spitting  fowls,  rolling  out  pie-crust,  or  anxiously 
thrusting  her  head  into  the  mouth  of  the  wide  Dutch 
oven,  —  but  the  great  inner  kitchen,  with  its  row  of 
windows  looking  out  on  the  stable  yard,  its  low,  smoke- 
stained  ceiling,  brick  hearth,  and  quaint  old  clock,  on 
whose  forehead  a  ship  under  heavy  sail  was  always 
pitching  up  and  down  on  the  waves  of  timen 

The  floor  of  this  ball-room  was  not  a  spring-floor. 
The  rafters  on  which  it  rested  would  have  furnished 
timber  enough  for  a  modern  house-raising,  and  the 
thickness  of  its  planks  had  defied  the  tread  of  genera 
tions  of  feet,  and  the  scrubbing  of  generations  of  hands. 
Here  and  there  a  hollow  was  worn  in  its  surface,  now 
and  then  a  knot  in  the  wood  served  to  trip  up  the 
unwary,  and  the  kitchen  hearth,  scarcely  any  two  of 
whose  bricks  were  on  a  level,  obtruded  into  the  very 
centre  of  the  apartment.  But  these  things  were  mat- 


64  in  t  \  i  i  i>  n 

• 

bf  indin'erencc  to  tin-  gOMti  at  Stein's  hall.  The 
fa.-hion  of'  the  day  encouraged  them  to  .-pring  high  and 
clrar  obMarl.-.  They  were  n-ed  to  the  inequalities 
of  the  ground,  and.  on  tin-  whole,  like  children  eoa>ting 
down  hill,  tln-y  rathrr  enjoyed  the  juuin-i-.-. 

Tin-  hand  which  I'tinii.-hril  mu.-ic  1'or  this  hall  was 
iifither  a  Gcrmanian  orchestra  nor  a  city  Brijradi- 
hand,  l)iit  ulil  Cato  Loo,  yellow,  wrinkled,  and  with 
his  woolly  head  ^rray  as  a  chancellor's  wig,  played 
vigorously  on  the  same  violin  which  had  served  him 
as  far  hae-k  as  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant, 
and  called  the  figures  with  a  voice  as  loud  and  in 
spiring  as  a  field  marshal's  at  a  i«  \i.-w.  His  sole  as 
sistant  was  an  individual  so  wholly  obscured  by  his  in 
strument. —  a  violoncello  ;  {tainted  in  resemblance  of  the 
national  stars  and  stripes,  —  that  he  only  merits  men 
tion  by  his  nom  de  guerre  of  "  the  Star-spangled  Ban 
ner  ;"  under  which  name  he  had  been  associated  with 
Cato  cvof  since  the  old  man  lir.-t  a-pired  to  the  honors 
of  an  orchestral  leader.  If  their  music  was  not  strictlv 
scientific,  it  was  lively,  and  within  the  appreciation  of  the 
audience  —  so  that  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  tin- 
strain-  nf  Strau--  and  Weher  were  e\er  halt'  so 
live  to  the  loungers  in  modern  ante-room-  of  ta^hion  a< 
were  the  lir-t  notes  of  Soldier's  ,Joy  ,,r  Mmiev  Mn-k 
to  the  rustic  crowd,  who,  huddled  together  above  stairs. 
were  impatiently  await iuir  the  siirnal  note  from  Cfttofc 

liddle. 

They    p.Miivd    in    >imnllaneon-ly,  the    bed-room-    vield- 


THE    CHRISTMAS    BALL.  65 

ing  up  at  once  their  wholesale  stock  of  matrons  and 
girls,  the  men  coming  &s  flies  come  in  summer,  singly, 
from  every  crack  and  cranny  id  and  about  the  house, 
and  like  flies,  clinging  to  the  edges  of  the  room,  es 
pecially  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  windows  and  doors, 
as  if  to  secure  some  means  of  retreat.  From  these 
posts  they  shyly  eyed  the  female  portion  of  the  com 
pany,  who  occupied  the  side  of  the  kitchen  next  the 
blank  wall,  against  which  benches  from  the  bar-room 
were  placed  for  the  accommodation  of  the  elders,  while 
the  younger  women  stood  awkwardly,  or  anxiously 
awaiting  Cato's  word  of  command  —  "  Choose  yer 
partners,  gen'l'men  ! " 

There  were  a  few  exceptions,  however,  to  this  general 
rule  ;  Angie  had  the  tact  to  loiter  a  moment  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  the  coquetry  immediately  to  engross  the 
captain,  and  the  courage  to  enter  the  assembly-room  lean 
ing  on  his  arm,  at  the  very  moment  when  their  entrance 
was  sure  to  command  attention  and  produce  an  effect. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Cousin,  whose  sociability  and  cour 
tesy  were  in  complete  contrast  to  the  rustic  embarrass 
ment  of  his  neighbors,  moved  briskly  about  within  the 
enemy's  lines,  — that  is  to  say,  in  the  female  quarter, — 
making  profuse  inquiries  concerning  the  health  of  the 
old  people,  complimenting  the  young  girls,  and  regretting 
his  inability  to  offer  himself  as  every  body's  partner  in  a 
dance.  The  little  old  gentleman  looked  so  trim  and 
courtly  in  his  black  small  clothes,  worn  almost  thread 
bare,  but  scrupulously  preserved  and  brushed,  and  his 
G* 


66  HA  i  A  run  HI   \ , 

voluminou-  neckcloth  of  stiilly->iarched  cambric,  white 
as  snow,  thai  e\ery  limly  \\a-  plca.-cd  and  Haltered  by 
hi-  attentions  ;  tin-  young  girls  blushed  rosy  red  at  his 
whispered  prai.-.'-.  a-id  wi-hcd  the  young  men  were 
half  BO  "  cml-like  ;  "  and  one  or  two  elderly  spinsters, 
who  were  strangers  to  all  forms  of  gallantry,  frit  :i 
tin-ill  of  -elf-complacency  at  the  belief  that  Mr.  Cou-i:i 
\'.;i-  uiakiiiir  lo\i',  —  an  elation  of  spirits  which  was,  how- 
r\n-.  MniH-\vhat  clamped  by  the  suspicion  that  pos-ihly 
he  ha«l  lu-cn  drinking.  Neither  was  the  case,  ho\\v\rr; 
Mr.  ('ou>in  was  merely  a  Frenchman,  and  in  his  native 
element  —  society. 

There  were  one  or  two  others  among  the  company 
who  ventured  to  overstep  the  restraints,  which  the 
majority  imposed  upon  thcm.-ehcs.  Tims,  Squire 
Kunyan,  justice  of  the  peace,  believed  it  incumbent  on 
him  to  stand  by  his  niece,  who  was  very  shy,  until 
she  got  a  partner;  and  farmer  Rycker  pei/ed  the  lir-t 
opportunity  to  put  himself  under  his  wife's  protection, 
squeeze  into  a  seat  on  the  bench  beside  her,  and  watch  to 
see  "  who  would  dance  fust  with  our  darter^." 

"This  is  purty  consid'able  of  a  ball,  wife,"  said  the 
farmer,  to  his  better  half;  "  nigh  on  to  two  dozen  couple, 
I  .-liMiild  jnd-e,  old  folks  and  young  folks  included;  — 
but  Jarsey  people  will  turn  out  when  theiv'<  dam-in'  in 
the  wind." 

"  An'  so  they  ought  ter,"  said  Dame  Rycker,  »  '-peciallv 
when  there'.-  Chri-tma-  doin's,  and  thev've  got  gals  to 
look  arler.  Now,  Susy,"  —  and  she  ga\e  a  smart  twitch 


THE    CHRISTMAS    BALL.  67 

at  the  -gown  of  her  youngest  daughter,  an  awkward  girl, 
of  not  more  than  fifteen  years,  who  was  edging  as  close 
as  possible  to  the  maternal  skirts,5 — "  you  hold  yer  head 
up  smart,  same  as  Phebe  does.  Joel  Beck  had  his  eye 
on  you  a  minute  ago  —  I  seen  him.  Jest  look  out  smart 
now,  an'  you'll  git  asked  —  first  set." 

"  Do  see  Angie  Cousin  !  "  exclaimed  the  bolder  Phebe, 
to  two  or  three  of  her  companions,  "  what  a  splurge 
she  is  making  with  Cap'n  Josselyn.  They've  been 
parading  all  round  the  room,  quite  military-like  ;  and 
now  her  tongue's  going  like  a  mill-clapper.  Ma  says 
mine's  loose  at  both  ends  ;  but,  law  !  if  he  should  speak 
to  me,  he  has  such  a  knowing  way  with  him,  I  should 
flutter  like  a  scared  hen." 

"  More  fool,  you  !  "  cried  Polly  Stein,  thrusting  her 
long  neck  in  among  the  group  of  girls.  "  He's  so  en 
tertaining  nobody  that  had  any  shine  in  'em  could  help 
being  bright  that  kept  comp'ny  with  him." 

"  Law,  you  needn't  talk,  Polly,"  retorted  Phebe,  who 
was  smart  enough  in  her  own  sphere.  "  I  don't  see 
but  what  your  light's  put  out." 

"  Goodness  me  !  "  ejaculated  Polly.  "  I  ain't  in  any 
such  dreadful  hurry  as  to  snap  up  folks  before  they're 
fairly  in  the  room.  I  have  plenty  of  chances  to  talk 
with  the  cap'n  any  day." 

"  One  chance  's  enough  to  them  that  know  how  to 
make  the  most  of  it,"  answered  Phebe.  "  Besides,  the 
cap'n  was  took  with  Angie  from  the  first.  He  never  set 
eyes  on  her  until  last  Sunday,  and  then  didn't  he  stare 
well  at  the  singing  seats  !  " 


II A  i  .\   /  i:  l>    II  /  .1  A'  IS, 

••  Ti  '  Bra    .-it-    in    the    -eats    hesides  AiiLiie."    in 

sinuated    1'nllv.    with    a    completely    -ati-lied    air. 

"O,  SO  there  to,"  replied  Tliehe.  "I  fc.rgot  tin-  lirst 
treble.  (Polly  was  thi>  lir-t.  unplea.-antly  ,-hrill  tivl>le.) 
Phehe  maliciously  jnggrd  tin-  elhow  of  tin-  girl  nearest 
to  her  as  she  made  her  last  ivmark,  and  continued,  —  "  It 
was  the  second,  and  not  the  lir-t  trclile.  th«»u;jlu  that  the 
cap'n  managed  to  walk  home  with  lietween  nieetin's. 
He  made  a  lot  o'  talk  with  the  old  gentleman  too.  and 
managed  to  get  invited  to  luncheon.  Old  Happy  told  our 
Joe  that  the  reason  she  came  .-»>  late  to  afternoon  meet  in' 
au-e  they  had  a  real  gentleman  to  take  a  piece 
with  Ym.  and  had  had  uncommon  lixius  on  that  ac 
count." 

••  Wi-11,  and  what  o'  that  ?  "  cried  Polly,  in  the  >hrillest 
tone  of  her  first  treble.  "He  went  up  to  look  at  the 
grape  vines,  and  talk  to  Mr.  Cousin  about  raisin'  'em, 
same  's  they  do  in  Europe,  wlu-iv  the  cap'n  's  been 
on  his  travels.  And  twice  since  that  he's  been  up  in 
the  afternoons  to  play  some  kind  of  a  game  with  the  old 
gentleman  ;  and  those  are  the  only  three  times  he's  ever 
seen  Angie  Cousin,  to  my  certain  kuowled-e." 

"  O,  he's  been  courting  the  old  gentleman,  has  lu-'r" 
inquired  IMiehe.  facet  iously,  and  Bgain  jogging  her  neigh 
bor's  elbow.  M  Then  there's  nothing  to  speak  sharp  or 
look  jealous  al'ont.  Tolly.  1  'tpOM  it's  <m  the  old  gen 
tleman's  account  that  the  cap'n  V  In-ailing  Angy  round 
now.  and  talking  soft  sawder  to  her.  and, —  ^'hy,  sure 
as  the  world,  they've  taken  places,  and  the  dancing  's 


THE    CHRISTMAS    BALL.  69 

going  to  begin  !   and "  here  T^hebe  broke  off  short ; 

all  the*  girls  faced  round,  anticipating  a  charge  of  part 
ners  ;  and  when  Phebe  spoke  again,  it  was  to  give 
a  pleased  affirmative  to  the  salutation  of  a  brisk 
young  farmer,  —  "  Phebe,  they're  a  formin'  ;  shall  we 
jine  in  ?  " 

"Who's  goin'  to  lead  off?  Where's  Geordie 
Rawle  ? "  anxiously  inquired  Joel  Beck.  Dame 
Rycker  had  managed  to  push  Susan  forward  at  the 
right  moment  to  s.ecure  the  bashful  Joel ;  Susan  was 
a  novice ;  Joel,  at  the  best,  could  only,  as  he  said, 
"  foller,"  and  the  couple  stood  holding  each  other  by  the 
hand,  but  keeping  as  far  apart  as  possible.  "  Where's 
Geordie  Rawle  ?  We  can't  do  without  Geordie  !  "  was 
echoed  by  the  voices  of  several  who  had  not  until  now 
missed  the  usual  master-spirit  of  their  festivities.  There 
was  no  answer.  Some  shook  their  heads,  in  doubt  or 
ignorance ;  some  referred  sympathetically  to  George's 
disappointment  in  the  afternoon  ;  more  than  one  glanced 
significantly  at  the  handsome  couple  at  the  top  of  the 
set,  and  concluded  that  the  stranger  had  slipped  into 
Geordie's  shoes.  It  was  as  well  Geordie  wasn't  there 
to  see,  &c. 

"  Where  is  Geordie  !  "  echoed  Angie's  heart ;  and,  half 
in  a  triumph  which  she  could  not  help  wishing  he  might 
witness,  half  in  an  anxiety  which  she  could  not  wholly 
suppress,  she  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the  right  and  left, 
looked  over  her  shoulder  with  apparent  carelessness, 
then,  excited  by  chagrin  at  her  lover's  absence,  gavo 


70  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

her  hand  with  animation  to  the  captain,  and  they  went 
down  tin-  dance  in  fine  style.  The  other  couples,  tfnis  re- 
vd,  fell  easily  into  their  place-  :  the  captain,  though 
he  declared  he.  had  never  seen  a  Fisher's  Hornpipe  in  his 
life  before,  can-jht  the  figure  a-  if  by  magic,  executed  all 
the  changes  with  grace  and  skill,  and  cVen  encouraged 
and  a.-.-i>led  others  who  had  the  advantage  of  him  in 
practice. 

Thu.-  he  .-ei/ed  Su-aii  Ryeker's  pattta  hands  at  the 
right  moment,  twirled  her  round  like  a  top,  and  left  her 
so  prepared,  by  a  few  rapid  instructions,  for  the  part  she 
wa-  next  to  play,  that  the  tanner  and  his  wife,  witness 
ing  from  their  post  of  observation  ho\\-  successfully  she 
and  Joel  went  through  the  figures  of  down  the  out 
side,  down  the  middle,  east  oil',  and  right  and  left. 
chuckled  with  pleasure,  and  said  to  one  another, 
"  I  don't  see  but  our  Susin  goes  it  with  the  rest 
on  'em." 

(  hie  of  the  ancient  spinsters  before  alluded  to,  Miss 
Sabrina  Rycker,  n>ter  to  the  farmer,  was  only  saved 
from  u  mortifying  fall  by  the  captain's  adroit  gallantry. 
Those  were  not  days  when  any  person,  however  ad 
vanced  in  years,  was  banished  from  the  dance  for  other 
OttUM  than  lack  of  vigor:  and  thi-  elderly  miss,  though 
frequently  sneered  at  by  her  si-ter-in-law  and  nieces, 
could  have  maintained  her  ground  with  the  youngest 
competitors,  had  .-he  not  hem  emh:irra--ed  by  three  t;,ll 
o.-irich  leather-,  which  were  mounted  civet  in  1,,-r  h.-ad. 
and  which  it  required  all  her  efforts  to  balance  properly. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   BALL.  71 

She  tripped,  therefore,  over  Joel  Beck's  big  boot.  How 
the  crrptain  contrived  to  break  her  fall  nobody  knew  ; 
but  that  she  found  herself  restored  to  her  feet  before  her 
younger  rivals  witnessed  her  discomfiture,  was  due  to  a 
promptness  which  at  once  won  for  the  captain  the  good 
will  of  the  most  voluble  tongue  in  the  parish.  Thus, 
before  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  dance,  he  had  at 
tained  the  summit  of  popularity ;  and,  this  too,  in  spite 
of  the  prejudice  which  might  be'  supposed  to  exist 
against  him  on  account  of  his  nationality,  and  the  char 
acter  he  had  so  lately  sustained  on  board  an  enemy's 
sloop  of  war.  But  then,  to  offset  this,  there  was  the 
pathos  connected  with  his  having  been  a  prisoner,  which 
appealed  to  the  women's  sympathies  ;  the  bravery  indi 
cated  by  the  late  sabre  cut  on  his  arm,  which  both  sexes 
could  appreciate  ;  and  altogether,  his  position  as  a  stran 
ger  and  an  exile,  which  called  forth  whatever  chivalrous 
feeling  there  was  in  this  rustic  community.  Had  he 
conducted  himself  too  loftily,  this  sentiment  might  have 
lain  dormant,  or  given  place  to  others  of  a  reverse  order. 
As  it  was,  the  condescension  of  his  deportment  on  the 
present  occasion  excited  it  to  the  utmost,  and  exalted  the 
young  lieutenant  in  the  enemy's  service  into  a  popular 
hero. 

So  Angie  and  he  went  down  the  dance  in  triumph,  he 
courting  favor  along  the  female  line,  and  Angie,  on  her 
part,  dispensing  pleasant  words  and  smiles  in  the  oppo 
site  ranks,  and  both,  at  length,  reaching  the  pantry  door 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  kitchen,  somewhat  out  of 
breath,  but  in  high  glee. 


7-J  ffAUXTED    HEARTS. 

Here  Mr.  Cousin  awaited  them  to  otlcr  tho  captain 
his  snnin>»\.  Another  indication  of  the  stranger's 
facility  in  making  oonqueM-  ;  not  that  it  was  diilicult  to 
win  tin'  favor  of  tin-  l-'renchman,  or  to  overcome  the 
national  antipathy  which  might  be  supposed  to  be  as 
siroii;:.  at  lea-t.  in  hi-  Cft6€  as  in  that  of  tin-  people  with 
whom  Knirland  was  actually  at  war,  f»r  never  was  man 
so  opon  to  friendship  as  Mr.  Cousin:  and  as  to  preju 
dices,  In-  was  free  from  all  prejudices  but  one,  and  that  a 
general  prejudice  in  favor  of  every  body.  There  had 
been  no  drawback,  then-tore,  from  the  beginning,  to  the 
pleasure  the  old  man  took  in  the  society  of  thi-  ari.-to- 
cratic  stranger,  who,  whatever  ho  might  be  by  birth, 
knew  how  to  take  a  pinch  of  snull'  with  the  air  of  a 
Parisian:  at  the  >amo  time  ticklini:  the  ears  of  his 
French  friend  with  the  sound  of  his  own  name  (always 
Anglici/ed  by  his  rustic  neighbors),  but  now  given  with 
the  true  French  accent,  and  prefaced  by  the  title  Mon 
sieur. 

Angio,  meanwhile,  manit'e-ted  at  once  her  good  breed 
ing  and  her  good  nature  by  exchanging  a  few  kind  words 
with  Dame  Stein,  who.  having  brushed  up  hor  person 
a  little,  but  having,  a^  u-ual.  too  much  business  on  her 
hands  to  be  presentable,  dnn^  to  her  pantrv.  only  now 
and  then  peerini_r  into  the  kitchen  ball-room  to  see  the 
dancing,  —  a  proceeding,  of  which  Polly,  when  she 
reached  that  neighborhood,  did  not  he-itate  to  express 
her  disapprobation,  in  the  word-, — "Mother!  don't/ 
Why  will  you  show  yoursolf — looking  so?" 


THE   CHRISTMAS   BALL.  73 

The  ball  consisted  wholly  of  country-dances,  varied 
now  and  then  by  a  rustic  reel.  But  no  modern  inven 
tion  of  Terpsichore  furnishes  more  variety,  or  calls  for 
more  vigorous  effort,  than  these  same  country-dances. 
They  were,  therefore,  particularly  well  adapted  to  a 
population  so  accustomed  to  active  labor  that  any 
recreation  would  have  been  tame  which  did  not  call 
their  muscles  into  full  play.  To  the  captain  only  was 
this  species  of  exercise  a  novelty ;  but  he  did  not  flinch. 
The  chief  motive  for  his  exertions,  indeed,  was  securing 
Angie  for  a  partner.  Still,  although  he  danced  with  her 
so  many  times  as  to  excite  the  remarks  of  the  women 
and  the  envy  of  the  men,  he  occasionally  suffered  him 
self  to  be  satisfied  with  meeting  her  in  the  changes  of 
the  dance,  or  whispering  adroit  flatteries  in  her  ear 
during  the  intervals.  The  reluctance,  which  he  felt  or 
feigned,  to  accept  her  proposition  to  introduce  him  to 
the  other  belles  of  the  evening,  was  none  the  less  flatter 
ing  that  he  was  at  last  over-persuaded ;  for,  while  he 
stood  faithfully  opposite  to  Squire  Runyan's  niece,  or  far 
mer  Rycker's  Phebe,  his  dark,  sparkling  eyes  were  still 
pursuing  Angie,  and  now  and  then  catching  a  responsive 
glance. 

Whether  Polly  Stein  took  care  to  remind  him  of  his 
engagement  to  dance  with  her,  or  whether  he  chanced  to 
remember  it,  he  at  last  saved  his  credit  in  this  quarter 
by  holding  her  to  the  agreement.  It  was  a  noticeable 
fact,  —  a  proof,  perhaps,  of  his  quick  appreciation  of  char 
acter,  —  that  when  conversing  with  Polly  he  dropped  the 


74  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

strain  of  compliment  and  deference  which  was  .-<>  LTutitv- 
ing  to  Angic'>  vanity,  un<l,  as  if  adapting  himself  to  a 
l<>\\vr  le\cl.  assumed  a  tone  of  t'aiuiliarity  ami  jest  which 
he  would  not  ha\c  ventured  on  with  her.  lint  then, 
perhaps,  as  the  other  girls  said,  and  Polly  intimated,  ii 
was  because  he  was  a  member  of  the  tavern  household, 
and  the  landlord's  daughter  knew  him  so  well. 

At  all  events  it  pleaded  and  -ati.-lied  Polly.  It  did 
not  prevent  her  owin^  Angie  a  grudge  for  engrossing  so 
larje  a  share  of  the  captain's  attention,  but  it  pre 
vented  her  believing  that  attention  to  be  sincere  on  his 
part,  and  persuaded  her  that  his  relations  with  her.-elf 
were,  on  the  whole,  more  confidential. 

A-  to  Angie,  she  gave  herself  up  to  excitement  and 
gratified  vanity  without  remorse,  or  much  regard  to 
consequences.  lien-  was  an  opportunity  to  exercise  her 
inherent  ambition  for  conquest,  and  punish  Geordie  for 
his  past  neglect.  Was  (Jeordie  to  he  left  to  the  suppo 
sition  that  he  was  the  only  man  whom  she  was  capable 
of  bringing  to  her  feet?  Especially  \\as  he  to  be  in 
dulged  in  this  belief  at  a  time  when,  if  ever,  he  had 
neglected  her,  had  been  >elf-eu;rrosscd.  irritable,  and  out 
of  spirits?  What  right  had  any  man  to  In  depressed  in 
the  possession  of  her  affections?  No  ;  it  was  enough  that 
for  half  a  dozen  Christmas  l>alls  in  succession  she-  had 
been  mated  with  a  youth  who  seemed  no  nearer  than  ever 
to  a  position  in  which  he  could  claim  her  hand.  Lately. 
\\hen  >he  had  .-eeii  him,  he  had  been  .-hamelaced  and 
sullen.  If  he  must  lie  sulky  in  her  presence,  she  would 
him  "inethinj  t<>  lie  >ulky  about. 


THE    CHRISTMAS   BALL.  75 

So  she  reasoned  with  herself;  but  that  her  heart 
argued  better  than  her  head,  might  be  guessed  from  her 
penetrating  review,  now  and  then  of  the  entry,  and  other 
passages  leading  to  the  ball-room,  and  a  slight  start  and 
quick  glance  of  her  eye  whenever  a  tall  shadow  fell 
across  the  threshold  of  either  doorway.  fti  spite  of 
herself,  she  was  asking  the  same  question  which  others 
have  asked,  and  which  it  is  time  to  answer,  —  u  What 
has  become  of  Geordie?" 


76  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

TELLING    WHAT    H/J>    BECOME    OF    GEORDIE. 

WHEN  George  Rawle  lifted  his  head  from  his  knees, 
in  which  posture  he  had  been  crouching,  lie  knew  not 
how  long,  Nicholas  Ely,  the  conr>e  man  who  had  been 
with  him  on  tin-  tavern  platform,  stood  at  the  entrance 
of  the  stall,  and  the  light  from  a  lantern,  which  he  car 
ried  in  his  hand,  shone  directly  in  George's  face.  He 
had  watched  young  Rawle.  and  followed  him.  George 
had  heard  some  one  enter  the  stable,  and  move  about 
among  the  horses,  ostensibly  looking  after  their  com 
fort,  but  in  reality  doing  little  but  kick  and  growl  at 
them.  He  thought  he  recognized  Nick's  voice,  but  did 
not  consider  his  presence  an  intrusion  so  long  as  he  kept 
at  a  distance  from  his  retreat.  He  now  looked  up 
angrily  on  finding  himself  discovered. 

••  Hollo,  you  young  dog  in  the  manner  !  "  cried  Nick, 
with  f'eiirned  surprise,  and  speaking  in  the  hail-fellow- 
well-met  tone  of  a  familiar  comrade  ;  "  you\ e  made 
\.  r  b.-d  here,  have  yon?  Wai.  MOM  you  don't  M6OI  I" 
!•••  rnjoyin'  it  much,  be  ^en'ron-  now.  an'  invite  a  friend 


TELLING     WHAT   HAD    BECOME    OF    GEOHD1E.     77 

to  keep  yer  company  !  "  and  without  waiting  for  encour 
agement,  Nicholas  threw  himself  heavily  down  beside 
George,  propped  his  lantern  up  in  the  straw,  filled  a  pipe 
with  tobacco,  and,  having  lit  it  by  aid  of  the  lantern, 
commenced  smoking.  George,  meanwhile,  remained 
obstinately  silent,  his  attitude  and  face  expressing  a 
dogged  resolution  to  ignore  Nicholas's  presence  altogether. 
But  the  latter  was  not  easily  discouraged ;  assurance 
was  his  forte.  "  I  say,  Mr.  George,"  said  he,  slyly 
keeping  watch  upon  his  companion's  face,  "  things  has 
gone  agin  you  like  thunder,  hasn't  they  ?  " 

u  Get  out !  "  said  George,  with  sullen  vehemence. 
"  What  do  you  want  to  come  here  taunting  a  fellow 
for?"  and,  with  a  jerk  of  his  shoulders,  he  half  turned 
his  back  upon  Nicholas,  and  rolling  over  on  the  straw, 
withdrew  a  little  from  his  vicinity. 

"  Tauntin',  old  boy,"  responded  Nicholas  ;  "  not  I.  I 
leave  that  for  my  betters.  What  should  I  be  tauntin' 
fur?  Let  them  crow  that  stands  a-top  o'  the  fence.  Nick 
Ely's  too  low  to  be  feared  on  that  score.  It's  cause 
you're  down  in  the  mouth,  Mr.  George,  that  I  feels  as  if 
you  an'  I  was  kind  o'  mates  ;  misery  loves  company, 
yer  know"  —  and  Nicholas,  leaning  over  the  young  man, 
who  was  resting  on  his  elbow,  with  his  face  hid  from 
sight,  laid  his  rough  hand  upon  him  coaxingly. 

George  shrank  from  his  touch.  A  companionship 
founded  on  the  basis  of  mutual  and  acknowledged  degra 
dation  had  nothing  very  consolatory  in  it. 

Nicholas  took  several  whiffs  at  his  pipe. 
7* 


78  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

••  Look  ye  here,  yonnir-ter,"  In-  .-aid  at  length,  in  the 
tone  of  om:  about  t..  open  an  argument.  "  uhu''-  the  U8€ 
o'  sulkin'?  People  an'  tiling  i>  dead  >et  a;jin  you,  ain't 
they?"  George  groaned.  "You  don't  like  to  own  up 
to  't ;  that's  nat'ral ;  but  lookers-on  see  most  o'  the  game, 
an'  I  should  say  ybu  was  pooty  well  cornered,  leastways 
will  be,  if  you  give  up  to  't  this  'ere  fashion." 

••  What  can  a  fellow  do?"  exclaimed  George,  bitterly. 
"  Once  down,  every  body's  ready  to  give  you  a  kick." 

"  Why,  up  an'  at  'em's  my  motter,"  said  Nicholas. 
4 '  Fight  it  out,  man,  an'  come  by  your  rights,  one  way 
or  t'other." 

"  I  don't  see  as  I  have  any  rights  in  this  world,"  mut 
tered  George.  "  Plenty  of  wrongs  I've  got  o'  late ;  if 
there's  any  thing  belonging  to  me  yet,  that's  worth  havinir, 
I  should  like  to  know  it." 

"  Natur'  owes  you  a  right  for  every  wrong,  man  :  an' 
if  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  have  it  out  of  her." 

••  Whip  up  Natur',  as  you  call  her,  and  drive  to  the 
devil,  eh?"  said  George,  with  a  cheerless  laugh.  "That's 
a  race  I've  been  running  pretty  fast  lately,  and  a  nag 
that  '11  soon  land  me  in  the  bottomless  pit,  I'm  thinking, 
if  I  don't  come  to  a  stop." 

"  Don't  you  never  pull  up  till  you  win  the  -take-.  Mr. 
George.  If  you  do,  you  ain't  the  buy  I  take  you  fnr." 

"  I  don't  know  about  then-  l>eini_r  any  stakes  to  win  ; 
but  one  thing  's  certain,  I  haven't  any  thin.ir  left  to  lose." 

"That's  jest  it,"  cried  Nick,  triumphantly.  ?  Thai's 
wh» -re  fortin's  on  your  side  now." 


TELLING    WHAT  HAD    BECOME    OF    GEORDIE.     79 

"  That's  a  new  way  of  looking  at  fortune,"  murmured 
George. 

"  The  only  true  way,  I  tell  yer,"  replied  Nick.  "  Why, 
I  owe  all  the  luck  I've  had  in  life  to  takin'  that  'ere  view 
o'  the  case." 

"  Great  luck  ever  you've  had ! "  exclaimed  George, 
glancing  with  ill-concealed  disgust  at  the  greasy  clothes 
and  bloated  face  of  his  companion.  George  had  not  got 
used  to  low  society  yet. 

44  Why,  not  so  bad  nuther,  cousiderin'  my  beginnin's," 
said  Nicholas,  meditatively,  and  pausing  long  enough  to 
spit  and  knock  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  "  not  but  what 
I  might  ha'  done  better,"  he  added,  "  if  I'd  had  your 
chances." 

"  My  chances?" 

"  Yes,  yourn." 

"  Name  'em." 

"  Wai,  respectable  relations,  an'  edecation,  an'  friends 
as  had  money.  Natur'  owes  more  to  folks  that  were 
born  to  expect  somethin'.  Now,  I  come  up  out  o'  the 
gutter,  an'  couldn't  look  beyond  scratchin'  in  the  mud  all 
my  days.  But  if  I'd  been  you,  I'd  ha'  aimed  arter 
higher  game." 

George  winced.  Reproach  from  this  quarter  was  un 
expected,  but  it  struck  home. 

"  You're  right,  Nick,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  I've  had 
opportunities ;  it's  my  own  fault,  I  suppose,  that  I've 
lost  'em." 

"  Lost  *em?    Not  by  a  jug  full,"  retorted  Nick,  in  a 


60  II  I  I     \   V  A  It    HI-:   I  y;  /'.*. 

lour  \\hieh  lu  -I  rayed  how  little  In-  appreciat.  -I  tin-  nature 
of  Gcorjv'-  contrition.  "  IJy  Jolly,  it'  I  \\  a. -in  your  place, 
now,  yer'd  \ii-k  lily  ^oiii'  it  with  ilyin'  colors." 

UI  only  wish  you  we- re  in  my  place  !  "  exclaimed 
George,  impatiently.  "Ami  that  I  wa- " —  he  could  not 
add  "  in  yours"'  — so  after  pausing  a  second  or  two.  he  liu- 
i-hed  with  '•  no  wheiv." 

Nick  la  u  -  hed.  —  not  heartily,  as  good  men  laugh  at  a 
good  joke,  but  fiendishly, — ftfl  deviU  lau-li  at  their  own 
d  thoiiLfhts.  Afti-r  a  while,  .-••»-in^  that  George  had 
hurird  his  i'arc  in  the  >tra\v.  tryiui;  jierhaps  to  imagine 
himself  the  nonentity  he  craved  to  become,  Nicholas 
began,  as  the  >erpeiit  of  old  did,  by  trying  to  excite  cu 
riosity  ;  and, putting  himself.as  it  were,  in  George's  place, 
commenced  throwing  out  inv-terious  hints  of  what  he 
should  propose  to  accomplish  under  hi.s  new  conditions. 

"  Fust  an'  foremost,"  said  he,  u  I  wouldn't  groan  an' 
take  on  'bout  what  was  past  and  couldn't  be  cured. 
Then.  I  wouldn't  lie  down  and  clutch  at  a  straw  when  I 
might  stand  up  with  my  hands  full  o'  — well,  we  won't 
say  what,  but  somethiu'  better  worth  luiviu*  —  an*  I 
wouldn't  let  another  feller  come  atween  me  an*  my  gal 
when  good  looks  an'  smile-  was  easy  bought;  an'  1 
wouldn't  go  afoot  when  I  might  jest  a>  well  ride,  nor  be 
shoved  one  side  by  wusser  men,  nor  stand  snubbin',  no 
how." 

"  What  do  you  mean  r"  cried  George,  raising  himself  up 
suddenly,  and  speaking  hall'  in  curiosity  and  half  in  ani'er. 

"Law,  nothin'  oncivil.    Mr.    George;    I  was    only   a 


TELLING    WHAT   HAD    BECOME   OFGEORD1E.      81 

talkiu'  to  myself  an'  a  thinkin'  out  loud.  P'raps  you 
kiiow  best  how  to  manage.  I  was  only  try  in'  on  your 
old  shoes,  an'  thinkin'  how  easy  I  could  cobble  'em  up  an' 
polish  'em  like  new." 

"  It's  easy  enough  talking.  I'd  like  to  see  you  do 
it." 

"  Wai,''  said  Nick,  who,  now  that  he  had  secured 
George's  attention,  was  ready  to  state  his  proposition, 
"  it's  money  that  makes  the  mare  go,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Seems  so,"  replied  George.  "  I  know  some  folks  that 
are  pretty  well  stuck  for  the  want  of  it." 

"Money's  a  long-handled  whip,"  suggested  Nick. 
"  Give  me  money  an'  I'll  drive  every  thing  afore  me. 
Git  your  pockets  well  lined  like  the  capii's  yonder,  an' 
yer'll  ride  inter  favor  on  the  gallop.  Why,  he  couldn't  hold 
a  candle  to  you,  Mr.  George,  except  that  he's  got  the 
shiners.  It  gives  him  a  kind  of  a  glitter,  'specially  in 
the  eyes  o'  the  gals." 

Unflattering  as  this  latter  comment  might  be  to  the 
female  sex,  it  made  George  acutely  alive  to  the  degrada 
tion  of  being  a  beggar. 

"•  The  thing's  to  get  it !  "  he  murmured,  despairingly. 

"  That's  it ! "  replied  Nick,  in  an  encouraging  tone. 
"  Once  got,  it's  a  nest-egg  that's  allers  doublin'." 

"  Yes,  but  twice  nought's  nought,"  answered  George, 
"  and  that's  the  beginning  and  end  of  my  reckoning." 

"  'Twouldu't  be  if  I  was  in  your  place,"  replied  Nick. 
"  Now,  as  I  was  tellin'  yer,  I  never  had  much  of  a 
chance,  an'  what  I  did  have  is  pretty  well  dreened  out. 


^J  //   I  I    \  TED   HEARTS. 

lint  it'  I  v  r,.  IJ.-iwle  i'Mead  o'  Nick  Illy.  I'd  soon 

Mart  a  hi-  ti.L'iir'  an'  keep  the  hall  a  rollin'." 

"  Speak  out!"  cried  George,  who  was  at  <mtv.-u>piei.Mis 
and  impatient  of  his  comrade.  ••  What  are  you  driving 
at?" 

"A  fort  in',  man,  a  fortin*  ready  made  to  ycr  hand. 
It's  been  keepin'  fur  yer  this  many  a  year,  snug  as  nu-ai 
in  a  nut.  Take  my  advice  now,  an'  crack  it." 

"Where's  (lie  tree  it  grows  on,  I  should  like  to 
know?" 

"Up*  in  the  mountain,  as  I've  hcarn  tell.  Hain't  ycr 
got  a  rich  uncle  there  that's  been  savin'  up  money  fur  yer 
like  a  careful  old  miss?" 

George's  response  was  a  laugh  and  an  oath  ;  the  lauirh 
against  Nick,  for  jumping  so  wide  of  the  mark  ;  the  curse 
against  his  uncle,  perhaps,  or  himself,  or  both. 

"  No  !  Devil  take  me  then  it'  I  hain't  been  gummed  !  " 
exclaimed  Nick,  in  genuine  surprise.  "  So  the  old  c<»\ ,• 
hain't  got  the  ready  arter  all  ?  " 

u  What  if  he  has?"  said  George,  bitterly,  "that's 
nothing  to  me." 

"By  Jove,  'tis  though!"  retorted  Nick,  with  as  much 
zeal  as  if  he  himself  were  the  heir  expectant.  "  What's 
the  rea.-on  tain't?" 

"Do  you  suppose  lianltie  Raul.-'s  Lr"in-j-  to  throw  his 
hard  dollars  a\vay  on  a  poor  devil  like  me?  Not  he. 
He'd  bury  'em  first." 

'•P.nryYm?  llury  him  !  I  say."  growled  Nirk.  bru 
tally.  M  What  do.-  an  old  hulk  like  that  want  o*  money  ''" 


TELLING    WHAT  HAD  BECOME  OF  GEORDIE.    83 

"  Likes  to  look  at  it,  and  handle  it,  and  count  it,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  The  darned  old  miser  !  I'd  soon  make  his  reck'nin' 
.come  short  if  I  was  you,  Mr.  George." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Tain't  so  easy  spending  other 
folks'  money,  especially  when  they've  turned  you  out  of 
doors,  and  warned  you  that  you  shall  never  see  a  shilling 
of  it." 

George  spoke  this  last  phrase  in  the  suppressed  tone 
of  one  still  writhing  under  the  remembrance  of  past  threats 
and  abuse.  Nick's  quick  apprehension,  however,  caught 
both  the  words  and  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  uttered. 

"Turned  yer  off,  has  he?  the  vicious  old  skeleton. 
Then  there's  an  end  o'  good  manners  atween  yer.  Per- 
liteness  has  stood  in  many  a  man's  way,  so  hang  me  if  1 
don't  think  yer  well  rid  on't.  If  yer  elders  don't  set 
you  no  better  example  than  that,  why,  they  can't  blame 
yer  if  you  takes  liberties  as  well." 

"  I  take  liberties  with  my  uncle  Baultie  !  "  exclaimed 
George.  "  You  don't  know  the  man,  Nick.  His  words 
are  harder  than  most  men's  blows.  Unless  I've  a  mind  to 
take  liberties  I  should  be  sorry  for,  it  stands  me  in  hand 
to  keep  a  safe  distance  from  his  iron  tongue." 

"Keep  yer  distance?  Wai,  so  yer  may.  Old  blood 
an'  young 's  apt  to  run  contrairy,  but  if  I  was  you  now, 
devil  catch  me  if  I'd  be  the  hindermost.  Ef  I  couldn't 
come  up  with  him  one  way  I  would  'tother.  You  un 
derstand  writin'  pooty  well,  don't  yer,  Mr.  George?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  have  me  write  and  ask  for  his  pardon 


>1  HAUNTED   in:  \jtTS 

and  hi-  jn.ck, •;-!.(,., k  !  "  cjacnlated  (1m  r-v.  indignantly. 
••  Ndi  I.  I  inav  be  a  mark  for  l»a«l  luck,  and  a~  j.n.ir  a^ 
jar.  but  I  won't  he  a  >la\e  nor  a  jacka  — ." 

"Bully  for  yon  !  You've  got  spunk,  I  sec,"  cried  Nick, 
slajipini:  liini  <'ii  the  back  and  ••hiu-kliu.ir.  "  I  .-ay  as  you 
do  —  no  cringm*.  But  I'd  make  old  Rawle  >hcll  out  fur 
all  that.  I  wouldn't  talk  f»  him,  nor  write  In  him  nuther. 
but  if  I'd  had  eddication.  and  could  handle  U  ]>»-n.  1  wouldn't 
mind  writ  in'  a  word  fur  him,  do  you  see?  jest  by  way  of 
obligin'- folks  all  round." 

George  looki-d  my-titicd. 

Nick  proceeded  to  enlighten  him.  Putting  his  mouth 
close  to  George's  ear.  and  giving  his  elbow  an  expressive 
nudge,  he  whispered,  — 

"You  can't  take  liberties  with  old  Rawlc  ///*>•>•//*,  but 
you  illicit  make  free  with  his  wMie." 

Nick's  meaning  began  to  dawn  upon  George,  who. 
shocked  but  Mill  incredulous,  had  such  an  expression  on 
his  face,  that  Nick  made  haste  to  reply  to  it  in  the  words, — 

••  Why,  Mr.  George,  what  a  tarnation  chicken  you  nre  ! 
A  reg'lar  Driven  1111  !  You  look,  fur  all  the  world,  as  if  I'd 
spoke  o'  boilin'  up  the  old  man  and  >ellin'  his  hon.-.  I 
tell  yer  borrerin'  names  is  the  comnioiiot  tiling  I  know 
on.  Fellers  that's  hard  up  don't  make  nothin'  on't.  Ki 
I  was  you  now,  and  had  an  unilateral  uncle,  I'd  scratch 
his  name  on  a  check  an'  hand  it  in  to  the  bank  he  had 
dealin's  with,  an*  jx»cket  the  ca>h.  an'  walk  oil'  a  LTentle- 
man  in  no  time." 

"No  you  wouldn't  neither,  yon  ra-cal  !  "  cried  George, 


TELLING    WHAT  HAD   BECOME   OF  GEURDIE.     «5 

raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  looking  defiantly  at 
Nick,  who  having  gone  through  with  the  pantomimic 
action  of  signing  the  note,  presenting  it  and  receiving 
the  money,  had  now  plunged  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
and  was  complacently  jingling  a  few  copper  coins. 

"Why  not,  youngster  ?"  asked  Nick,  coolly  indifferent 
to  George's  threatening  attitude*. 

"  Because,"  answered  George,  secretly  triumphing  in 
his  own  superior  knowledge  of  his  uncle's  habits,  "  be 
cause  my  uncle  Baultie  has  nothing  to  do  with  banks. 
So  you  couldn't  come  it  over  him  that  way.  The  only 
bank  Baultie  Rawle  ever  trusts  in  is  his  own  stron0" 

O 

box." 

Nick's  countenance  fell  at  first  as  George  threw  a  dam 
per  on  his  scheme,  but  glowed  with  exultant  eagerness 
as  he  caught  the  young  man's  last  words. 

"Strong  box,  eh?"  he  murmured,  drawing  his  hands 
slowly  from  his  pockets.  "  Did  ever  you  see  that  'ere 
box,  Mr.  George?" 

"  Should  think  I  had,"  said  George,  who,  having  as 
he  thought  checkmated  his  braggart  comrade,  observed 
with  satisfaction  how  crestfallen  he  looked  at  the  veto 
put  upon  his  scheme,  but  failed  to  catch  the  covetous 
after-glow,  and  so  was  thrown  off  his  guard. 

"  And  where  does  he  keep  it?  Not  up  on  the  moun 
tain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure." 

"  I  want  ter  know !  Now  that's  very  onsafe,  ain't 
it?" 

8 


n  \  i  \  i  i  i>   ii  i    i  I;TS. 

"Unsafe?  Why,  no;  ho  has  it  under  his  own  eve  hv 
day,  and  stowed  under  his  own  head  by  niirht.  I  don't 

kliuw   what   better  keeping  he  could  tru.-t    it  to." 

"Did  em  y«.u  gd  a  peep  into  tin-  inside  on't  ':  " 

"Now  and  tlu-n,  hut  not  often.  II*-  keeps  it  pretty 
snu.L'.  I've  seen  it  with  tin-  co\er  up  when  hr  vr*fl  l<.«,k- 
ing  over  his  pajn-rs  l»y  thr  kitrlu-n  tahh-,  and  onci-  In- 
Lra\<-  nu-  a  gold  guinea  out  of  it  to  buy  me  a  IH-W  hat 
just  at'trr  father  died." 

"Gold  guineas,  eh!  Think  there's  many  on  em?" 
queried  Nick,  eagerly,  and  catching  George  by  the 
sleeve. 

The  look  and  action  were  unmistakable.  George 
Lrlaneed  at  him  snspieiously,  and  evaded  n  direct  answer, 
by  saying,  "  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"You  ought  ter  know,  an  I'll  ventur'  to  say  yer  do, 
Mr.  George  ;  only  you've  cauirht  his  miserly  tricks  an* 
mean  to  keep  dark.  I'll  warrant  you've  had  yer  hand 
inter  his  pile  many  a  time  an'  helped  yerself,  hain't  yer 
now?"  and  Nick  gave  the  yonn^  man  an  interrogatory 
shove. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  cried  Gfoofgfc,  repuls 
ing  Nick  with  an  unceremonious  force  that  was  almost 
a  blow.  ••Yon  know  well  enough  the  old  man  i-  ti.uht 
a-  a  drum.  Do  you  .-upposc  I've  been  in  the  habit  of 
stealing?" 

"  Siealin'  yer  call  it,  do  yer?  Now,  I  don't,  thoii'jli 
I  ku«»\v  there's  -ome  fooU  as  does.  I  call  it  nothin' 
'n  fail-  play.  It  '11  all  be  ymiru  one  o'  ihe-e  day-. 


TELLING    WHAT  HAD   BECOME   OF  GEORDIE.    87 

05*  ought  ter ;  an'  if  you  hain't  had  gumption  enough  to 
help  yerself  when  it  come  handy,  why,  then  it  shows 
you  ain't  up  to  snuff,  —  that's  all." 

"  Mine  !  "  cried  George,  angrily.  "  Haven't  I  told 
you  already  that  my  uncle  had  turned  me  off?  Once, 
when  I  was  a  little  shaver,  he  trusted  me,  and  had 
feason  to,  —  now,  when  I'm  a  scapegrace  (for  that's 
about  what  I  suppose  I  am),  he's  disgraced  me,  twitted 
me,  and  called  me  a  thief.  I  never  deserved  that  last,  — 
no,  I  never  deserved  that  he  should  search  my  face,  and 
all  but  search  my  pockets,  for  his  gold.  God  knows 
there  was  little  enough  there  !  I  never  wronged  him 
of  a  cent,  but  I  call  Heaven  to  witness  how  that  old 
man  has  wronged  me  !  " 

George  grew  excited  as  he  thus  spoke.  The  deep 
sense  of  injury  which  had  long  been  rankling  in  his 
bosom,  now,  for  the  first  time,  found  vent  in  words. 
Bring  a  hidden  sore  to  the  light,  and  how  astonishing 
is  its  spread  and  growth !  Thought  followed  quick  on 
thought,  while  the  young  man's  unloosed  tongue  summed 
up  the  features  of  his  case.  Suddenly,  as  if  stung  by  an 
adder  in  the  straw,  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  Passion  had 
given  a  new  interpretation  to  the  hint  thrown  out  at 
random  by  Nicholas  Bly. 

"  I  knew  he  suspected  me  of  being  a  robber  and  a 
liar  !  "  exclaimed  George,  flinging  back  his  head  defiantly 
and  clinching  his  fist,  but  I  never  believed  until  this 
minute  that  he'd  taken  away  my  good  name.  Who  put 
it  into  your  head,  Nick  Bly,  that  George  Rawle  was  used 
to  playing  the  thief?  " 


«8  //    I  /     \    /  1    n    H  I.    I  UTS. 

Niek  he-itated.  He  wa-  imi  ,i  -killed  diplomatist. 
and  his  lirM  impulse  W*i  to  BOOtfee  GeOfge'fl  wrath  by 
the  as  ih.it  In-  had  merely  been  throwing  tun  a 

feeler;  but  a  second  tin  nirlit  Mi^ireMed  to  his  «!, pra\ed 
mind  lliat  tin-  heat  and  ra-f  which  lit  up  ( leor-e's  eye 
and  paled  his  lip  iniidit  In-  made  useful  tools,  and  muM 
In-  .-harprnrd  rathi-r  than  dulK-d.  So  he  answered  r\a« 
sivrly. —  ••  Don't  ^rt  mad,  Mr.  George.  I  IH-MT  inore'n 
hah'  ln-lii'ved  it,  or,  if  I  did,  I  didn't  think  noin-  the  pniM 
on  }vr." 

"Tlu-n  that's  tin-  story  that's  been  ^oin^  round !"  cried 
George,  stamping  his  loot  upon  the  straw  as  if  to  crush 
i 'I'/ni-j:  in-ti-iinu-nts  of  pain  that  now  seemed  to  tor- 
tmv  him  in  i-\«-ry  un-inber.  u  My  i-harart.-i-V-  -our.  thru. 
—  has  been  these  many  months  \\>r  what  I  know.  1.^- 
rv  liody  has  tuniccl  the  cold  shoulder  on  me  of  late,  and 
its  my  unele  K'awle  that's  at  the  bottom  of  ii.  I  M*  it 
all  now.  Talk  of  thieves!  It's  he  that's  a  thiei1.  ^  . 
a  gray  old  villain  of  a  thief,  robbing  me  of  my  good 
name ! " 

"So  he  i>,"  chimed  in  Nick.  ••  That's  ji->t  what  I 
say.  I  never  had  no  'pinion  on  him.  A  mean  old 
scamp  th;r  .  r-meetinV  an'  >in--  |i.-alms  with 

the  >aints  below,  an'  Imi^s  to  be  jined  with  them  abo\e. 
as  I've  hearn  tell,  an'  yet  plays  the  mi-er  him>elf,  an' 
accuses  hi.>  own  brother's  >on  o'  lyin'  an'  larceny." 

"Don't  talk  to  me!"  cried  <•  :iithoriiati\.-ly. 

••  I  can't  bear  it.  Let  me  alone.  I'm  in  a  Mate  o*  mind 
when  1  mi-ht  do  an  injury  to  somebody  or  other:"  and 


TELLING     WHAT   HAD    BECOME    OF    GEOliUlE.    89 

turning  his  face  towards  the  side  of  the  stall  he  pressed 
his  hands  to  his  temples,  and  leaned  his  forehead  against 
the  rough  planks. 

"I  don't  blame  you  nutlier,"  muttered  Nick,  who 
seemed  to  think  it  his  business  to  personate  justice  and 
acquit  George  at  every  point.  Then,  in  obedience  to  the 
youth's  injunction,  he  maintained  a  short  silence,  but  a 
deep  groan  from  George  having  broken  the  spell,  Nick 
again  interposed.  "  Look  ye  here,  Mr.  Geordie,  I  tell 
yer  now  as  I  told  yer  in  the  beginnin',  you've  got  to 
take  a  new  tack,  or  founder  altogether.  You're  down, 
yes,  down  as  low  as  I  be.  It's  that  old  man  on  the 
mountain  that's  tripped  yer  up,  an  it's  him  that's  bound 
to  set  yer  on  yer  legs  agin.  You  an'  me  are,  both  on 
us,  at  a  discount  in  these  parts,  but  the  world's  wide,  an' 
there's  plenty  of  roads  open  to  a  feller.  I'll  show  yer 
a  way  out  of  all  yer  difficulties,  an'  git  yer  a  passport  to 
fortin',  only  ;"  —  and  here  Nick  approached  George's  ear, 
and  whispered  meaningly,  "  that  uncle  o'  yourn  owes 
you  somethin'  hansome,  an'  it's  him  that  ought  ter  pay 
yer  travellin'  expenses." 

How  much  of  this  advice  George  heard  or  compre 
hended  it  is  impossible  to  say,  for  he  neither  moved  nor 
answered.  A  considerable  period  of  silence  ensued  be 
tween  the  two'  men.  George  still  leaned  against  the 
planks,  his  face  hid  from  sight.  Nicholas  stooped  down, 
gathered  a  handful  of  straw,  and  stood  gnawing  at  it. 
At  length  he  might  have  been  heard  to  say,  in  a  sort  of 
muttered  soliloquy,  "  I  wouldn't  be  tried  an'  convicted 
8* 


90  //  1 1  \  11  i '   ii  i  \IITS. 

for  nothin'.  Kf  I  \NMS  goin*  to  get  a  -uiuttv  rharaeter. 
IM  gel  tin'  valler  of  it.  tn.».  I  would!  Mi-h!  &t  well 
have  a  thing  as  not  it'  yer  have  tin'  name  oii't  !"  These 
and  other  Mich  innuendoes  In-  indulged  in  without  inter 
ruption,  coupling  them  with  many  an  inveetive  against 
jo's  maliguers,  and  profane  hint-  of  their  merited 
tate  in  this  world  and  the  next.  He  had  indulged  in 
this  M>rt  of  monologue  so  loiiLr  without  inti-rierence.  thai 
lie  starti-cl  and  shrank  l»aek  IriLfliteiied  \vlieii  George 
suddenly  faced  about  and  ejaculated  iiercely,  "  Hold 
your  infernal  tongue,  you  scoundrel!  .Must  a  man  iro 
to  the  devil  because  he's  been  bid?  or  put  up  with 
Satan  when  he  comes  to  him  in  human  shape?" 

"  Satan's  yer  best  friend,  if  yer  mean  me,"  suggested 
Nick,  humbly. 

George  looked  hard  and  searchingly  at  Nick,  then  said, 
in  a  softened  tone,  "  You're  not  quite  a  devil,  Nick,  for 
he  is  wholly  false,  and  some  things  you've  said  to-night 
are  true.  I  shan't  forget  'era." 

•'Wai."  said  Nick,  "I  b'lieve  you  know  yer  man, 
an'  if  you  want  me  to  help  yer  any  time,  I'm  on  hand  — 
that's  all." 

"  I  may  want  you,  Nick,"  said  George,  in  the  tone  of 
one  who  had  half-resolved  on  something  de.-perate.  If 
I  do  I'll  let  you  know." 

"Where  yer  goin'  now?"  questioned  Niek  in  sur- 
pi-i-e.  for  George  was  buttoning  up  his  coat  and  looking 
round  lor  his  hat  and  whip,  which  he  had  dropped  in 
the  straw. 


TELLING    WHAT   HAD    BECOME    OF    GEORDIE.     91 

"  Into  the  house.     I'm  going  to  face  'em  all." 

"What,  jest  as  yer  are?"  and  Nick,  shabby  as  he 
was  himself,  glanced  disparagingly  at  George's  muddy 
oiding  boots  and  rough,  homespun  clothes. 

"  Yes,  just  as  I  am,"  replied  George,  surveying  his 
own  disordered  appearance  with  a  stern  complacency 
quite  unlike  his  ordinary  demeanor.  "  What  do  I  care 
for  any  of  'em  ?  —  any  of  'em,  I  say  ?  Let  'em  see  me 
at  my  worst,  and  own  up  to  what  they  think  of  me.  I'll 
have  it  out  fair  and  square  before  'em  all.  I'm  bound  to 
know  how  far  that  old  hypocrite  has  blasted  an  honest 
man's  fame." 

"  Take  a  drop  o'  sumthin'  fust,"  said  Nick ;  and 
stooping  down,  he  produced  a  common  junk  bottle  from 
a  hiding-place  of  his  own  in  a  corner  of  the  stall.  The 
offer  was  made  in  kindness,  or  what  Nick  meant  for 
such,  for  George  looked  deadly  pale,  and  his  tightly 
set  lips,  glaring  eyes,  and  expression  of  intense  deter 
mination  were  in  strange  contrast  to  the  genial,  smiling 
features  which  were  usually  the  credentials  of  his  easy 
good  temper. 

The  offer  was  well-meant ;  but  it  was  any  thing  but 
a  friendly  offer,  especially  under  circumstances  like  the 
present. 

George  stared  at  the  rum-bottle  an  instant  in  an 
absent  way,  then  grasped  it,  and  drained  a  deep 
draught. 


UA  UNTl-  l>    II I  ARTS. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

FN    WHICH    A    SUDDEN    STOP   IS    PUT   TO   THE    MUSIC. 

IT  hail  been  the  custom  ever  since  Diedrich  Stein 
in-tit HUM  1  Christmas  balls  for  the  benefit  of  the  public 
generally,  and  the  public  house  particularly,  to  serve 
tin-  .-upper  in  a  half-liiiished  chamber  above  the  wood- 
,-hed  ;  a  sort  of  drying-room,  the  walls  of  which,  at  dif 
ferent  seasons,  were  festooned  with  ears  of  seed-corn, 
bunches  of  herbs,  strings  of  dried  apples  and  pumpkin, 
or  linen  clothes  fresh  from  the  wa>h-tub.  Here  Polly 
Stein  had  occasionally  been  known  to  give  an  entertain 
ment  to  the  young  people  of 'the  neighborhood  in  the 
thrifty  shape  of  a  corn-husking  or  a  quilting-bee,  on 
which  occasions  the  sociability  and  excitement  attending 
the  labor  wen-  made  to  supersede  the  more  siib.-tantial 
good  cheer  that  might  have  been  expected  el.-ewhere, 
but  which  the  Steins  never  gave  any  body  gratis. 

On  Christmas  eve,  however,  when  the  supper  was  uii- 
dei-Mood  to  be  paid  for  at  so  much  a  head,  there  was  no 
lac^t  of  creature  comforts.  True,  the  viands  were  ar 
ranged  without  much  regard  to  taste  or  uniformity,  and 


A    SUDDEN   STOP    PUT    TO    THE    MUSIC.         93 

the  city  exquisite  would  have  been  sadly  shocked  at  the 
incongruities  of  the  table.  Ham,  well-dressed,  is  always 
genteel,  .and  no  one  despises  stuffed  fowls;  but,  just 
think  of  it!  the  former  was  flanked  by  home-made 
cheese  and  pickled  beets,  and  the  latter  by  crockery 
pitchers  filled  with  hard  cider.  Dame  Stein's  pastry, 
though,  to  use  her  own  words,  "  lard  was  the  shortenin' 
she  depended  on  mostly,"  was  well-baked  and  flaky,  but 
then  the  idea  of  mince  and  squash  pies,  ready  cut  in  quar 
ters,  and  apple-sauce  ad  libitum  ?  Who  ever  heard  either 
of  custard  puddings,  pears  stewed  in  molasses,  and  bowls 
of  cracked  walnuts  promiscuously  intermingled  with 
dishes  of  soused  pig's  feet,  baked  beans,  or  sour  krout? 
Yet  you  might  have  attacked  the  table  at  almost 
any  point,  and  taken  your  choice  of  all  these  eatables. 
Any  other  drink  than  cider  you  would  have  missed 
from  this  department,  because  you  had  a  standing  in 
vitation  to  take  "that  sort  of  thing"  at  the  bar,  and 
pay  extra. 

You  (and  by  you  I  mean  the  exquisite  of  that  age  or 
this),  might  have  found  still  greater  fault  with  Stein's 
supper-room  on  another  score.  There  was  no  fire  place, 
and  in  ordinary  Christmas  weather  it  was  cold  there, 
fearfully  cold.  On  the  night  of  December  twenty-third, 
1812,  you  could  sec  your  own  breath,  and  your  neighbor's 
—  everybody's  breath — steaming  away  like  so  many  tea 
kettles.  After  dancing, .  too  !  Why,  really  it  would  be 
as  much  as  your  life  was  worth  to  venture  in.  Not  so 
with  the  Stein's  Plains  folks  !  Their  lives  were  worth 


94  HA  VNTX  l>    H  .'.   I  ft  TS. 

more  than  yours  or  mine ;  at  least,  they  could  stand 
more  wear  and  tear.  They  were  u.-cd  to  frosty  night* 
and  room-  without  lircs.  It  would  he  a  poor  story  it' 
eating  and  drinking  couldn't  keep  them  warm  enough, 
and  as  to  tin-  young  people  who  had  been  c\< -i vi-ing  until 
the  girls'  faces  were  of  a  uuiionn  redness  and  moisture, 
and  until  the  youths  of  the  other  sex  chafed  within  tin 
confinement  of  their  best  coal-,  they  always  depended 
on  cooling  off  at  supper  time,  preparatory  to  beginning 
again.  Catch  cold,  indeed  !  It  would  be  a  miserable 
tool  who  couldn't  endure  the  atmosphere  of  Stein's 
supper-room  from  half  past  eight  to  nine.  (As  the  ball 
had  commenced  at  six,  that  was  not  an  unreasonably 
early  hour  for  supper.)  Why,  it  was  no  colder  than 
any  of  the  rooms  in  their  own  houses,  unless  perhaps 
ilie  kitchen.  The  school-hon>e,  where,  in  the  winter 
months,  they  had  all  acquired  the  rudiments  of  learning, 
was  only  warmed  by  the  feeble  stimulus  of  study. 
The  meetinLT-honse,  which  had  been  .^hut  up  all  the 
week,  was  inconceivably  chilly  on  Sundays,  its  only 
artificial  heat  being  what  chanced  to  be  contained  in 
the  minister'.-  -« •rnion.  It  would  be  strange  enouirh 
it',  with  their  systems  overcharged  with  caloric.,  the 
Stein's  Plains  folks  did  otlierwi.-e  than  welcome  a 
hivalh  <>f'  fre-h  air. 

It  maybe  supposed,  there  foiv.  that   they  were  moved 
to  a-ionishnient  and  companion  when,  on  the  company's 
bring  ii.-hcivd  into  the  sujiper-nmm.  the  Iv.ulMi  MI, 
>hi\eivd.  buttoned  up  that  military  coat  of  his,  and  looked 


A    SUDDEN   STOP    PUT    TO    THE   MUSIC.  95 

in  vain,  first  over  one  shoulder  and  then  the  other, 
to  see  if  he  could  detect  some  snug  retreat  or  sheltered 
corner  in  which  he  could  ensconce  himself  and  his  partner 

—  the  latter,  of  course,  being  Angie,  as  he  had,  early  in 
the  evening,  engaged  to  escort  her  to  supper. 

"  What  a  barn  of  a  place  this  is,  Miss  Cousin !  "  he 
exclaimed ;  "  these  people  are  barbarians  !  Why,  this 
exposure  will  be  the  death  of  you  !  —  or  of  me,  at  least," 

—  was  the  still  more   urgent  thought,  which  expressed 
itself  in  another  shiver. 

"  Yes,  it  is  wretchedly  cold  !  "  responded  Angie,  who 
would  not  have  thought  about  it  otherwise  ;  but  who, 
seeing  her  genteel  escort  so  horrified  at  the  atmosphere, 
very  naturally  gave  a  genteel  shiver  too. 

"  Let  me  bring  you  a  cloak  !  Dear  me,  these  farmers 
and  milkmaids  may  be  able  to  endure  it,  but  you,  Miss 
Cousin,  you  are  more  delicately  constituted.  I  cannot 
suffer  you  to  inhale  this  arctic  air.  You  would  be  ill, 
and  I  should  never  forgive  myself.  Let  me  bring  you  a 
wrap  of  some  kind." 

Angie  assured  him  his  fears  were  groundless.  She 
should  not  take  cold  —  at  least,  she  did  not  think  she 
should.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her  before  that  a  frail 
constitution  was  a  mark  of  refinement ;  but  now,  there 
was  something  so  flattering  in  the  distinction  made 
between  her  and  her  companions,  that  she  voluntarily 
moved  from  the  vicinity  of  a  window,  and  though  she 
declined  the  cloak,  suffered  the  captain  to  untie  the  silken 
scarf  which  was  fastened  at  her  waist,  and  tenderly  fold 
it  around  her  bare  nc^k  and  shoulders. 


96  HAUN r i  n  n i: ARTS. 

II.  then  approached  tlu-  table  with  the  view  of  securing 
place-  t'nr  himself  ami  Angle  upon  one  of  the  rough 
benches  that  surrounded  it  ;  l>ut,  although  there  VriM  a 
general  disposition  to  exercise  politeness  towards  him, 
which  manifested  itself  by  several  voices  exclaiming  in 
u  breath,  "  Room  here,  cap'n  !  —  plenty  o'  room  here  !  " 
In-  declined  every  offer  of  accommodation,  and  stepped 
back  at  length  to  report  to  Angic  that  tho.-e  country  cubs 
were  crowding  and  pushing  to  such  a  degree  that  he 
could  not  think  of  exposing  her  to  their  rudeness.  "  And 
if  I  could.  Miss  Cousin,"  he  added,  there  is  nothing  there 
with  which  I  could  hope  to  tempt  you.  Not  that  1  wi.-h 
to  disparage  my  landlady's  cooking  —  no,  upon  my 
word,  I  have  no  doubt  many  a  starving  man  might  be 
made  joyful  around  that  board.  Hut  a  gentleman  must 
be  hungry  indeed,  much  more  a  lady,  who  could  Maud 
such  a  spectacle  as  that  yonder.  Why,  there  is  an  old 
fellow  there,"  whispered  the  captain,  confidentially, 
*•  cutting  u])  a  turkey  much  in  the  style  in  which  he 
would  chop  wood,  and  a  young  woman  munching  ham 
and  gingerbread  at  one  mouthful ;  —  pah  !  Mis>  Cousin. 
I  will  not  disgust  you  by  any  further  particulars.  I 
know  you  are  very  amiable.  So  am  I  :  but  there  are 
limits  to  toleration  ;  "  and  lie  laughed  a  meanini:  laugh, 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  We  will  bear  with  these  people 
good-naturedly,  but  cannot  be  quite  blind  to  their  vulgar 
ity,  you  know."  Angie  joined  mechanically  in  thi-  lau-li 
"f  derision.  She  would  not  have  hurt  her  neii/hbor-' 
gf  openly  for  the  world,  but  she  could  not  rc.-isi  a 


A    SUDDEN  STOP   PUT    TO    THE   MUSIC.          97 

glow  of  satisfaction  at  the  contrast  which  the  captain 
must  see  between  her  manners  and  those  of  her  country 
friends,  to  make  him  so  confidential  in  his  criticisms. 
Besides,  there  did  seem  something  gross  to  her  to-night 
in  the  way  the  people  were  eating.  The  conflict  between 
pique  and  vanity,  which  was  waging  in  her  own  breast, 
had  quite  robbed  her  of  her  usually  healthy  appetite. 

"  You  have  put  yourself  under  my  charge,  Miss 
Cousin,"  continued  the  captain,  "  so  now  let  me  cater 
for  you.  Let  us  beat  a  retreat  to  the  little  sitting-room 
below.  There  is  a  delicious  bed  of  coals  on  the  hearth. 
I  will  persuade  Stein  to  bring  us  a  cold  fowl,  some 
biscuit,  and  a  bottle  of  Madeira.  That  will  be  luxury ; 
I  shall  be  made  happy  in  the  only  society  I  crave  this 
evening ;  and  you  —  O,  you  will  be  generous,  and  bear 
with  me,  if  not  for  charity's  sake,  for  the  sake  of  the 
charming  little  supper  I  will  arrange  for  you  there. 
Come  !  "  and  he  held  out  his  hand  in  a  lively  way  that 
was  quite  irresistible. 

It  seemed  rather  invidious  to  leave  the  rest  of  the 
company ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  something 
tempting  in  the  thought  of  such  a  select  and  exclusive 
arrangement.  Then  it  is  so  easy  for  a  man  of  the  world 
to  flatter  a  rustic  coquette  into  taking  airs.  So  Angie 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  proposal,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  she  and  the  captain  were  seated  in  front  of  the 
sitting-room  fire,  with  a  little  table  between  them,  while 
Stein,  who  had  staid  below  to  tend  the  bar,  was,  in  com 
pliance  with  Captain  Josselyn's  suggestions,  bringing 
9 


OS  HA  UN  T  r  />    If  /•:  ARTS. 

choice  little  inMalmeiits  from  Dame  Stein's  private  larder. 
and  hinting  his  congratulations  to  Angic  upon  her  pri\  i- 
legcd  lot. 

The  captain  certainly  fullilled  his  promise  to  provide  a 
choice  little  repast.  He  car\ed  tin-  fowl  in  tin-  most 
dainty  fa.-hiou.  div-.-ed  a  few  raw  oysters  in  the  .-hell, 
cut  delicate  slices  from  tin-  roll,  uncorked  tin-  wine  him 
self,  that  no  loss  skilful  hand-  might  di.-turh  the  div-~. 
and  so  gratified  Antic's  naturally  fastidious  taste  by  the 
dexterous  manner  in  which  he  served  and  presented  the 
refreshment,  that,  to  her  own  -urpri-e.  her  appetite  n- 
\i\ed,  and  she  found  herself  making  an  excellent  meal, 
and  even  sipping,  now  and  then,  the  amber  wine,  which 
the  gallant  captain  recommended  as  an  antidote  to  the 
cold. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment.  Miss  Cousin," 
said  he,  when  the  compliments  of  the  table  were  at  an 
end.  *'  I  will  bring  my  guitar,  and  sing  you  the  little 
Spanish  song  I  spoke  of  the  other  day." 

Angie  expressed  the  most  niiivu  delight  at  the  proposi 
tion.  The  captain  ran  up  stairs  to  his  room,  ami  in  a 
moment  reappeared  Avith  the  instrument.  It  was  a  love 
song  which  he  now  proceeded  to  sing.  Tin-  word-  were 
unintelligible  to  Angie,  but  the  action  was  vehement  and 
passionate,  and  the  singer  contrived  to  throw  so  much 
meaning  into  his  \oic-i-.  ge-tmv-.  and  i»xpiv.-.-ioii.  that 
Anirie  fell  hcr.-rlf  tremble  and  bhi.-h  beneath  the  .-i-aivh- 
ing  dark  eye,  which,  somehow,  she  could  neither  meet 
nor  escape,  and  which  exercised  a  sort  of  magnetic 
effect  upon  her  will. 


A    SUDDEN  STOP   PUT   TO    THE   MUSIC.         99 

We  have  hitherto  spoken  of  the  captain  as  a  young 
man  ;  but  he  was  not  so  very  young  after  all.  A  smooth 
complexion,  jet  black  hair  and  eyebrows,  slight  figure, 
and  quick  mercurial  temperament,  imparted  to  him  a 
youthful  air ;  but  on  closer  observation  it  was  easy  to 
detect  those  sharp  lines  about  the  temples,  that  slight 
hollo wness  of  the  eyes,  and  still  more  that  assurance 
of  manner,  which  indicate  a  ripened  experience.  As 
Angie  sat  opposite  to  him,  the  object  of  his  fascinations 
and  gallantry,  she  felt  the  advantage  he  had  over  her  in 
this  as  in  other  respects.  She  realized  that  he  had  con 
fidence  and  courage,  the  former  in  view  of  his  social 
position,  the  latter,  of  his  superior  years.  These  were 
traits  Angie  had  never  yet  contended  with  in  a  lover,  and 
they  made  her  yielding,  timid,  childlike.  So  she  sat 
listening  like  a  charmed  bird. 

Meanwhile  a  farm  wagon  rattled  up  to  the  door ;  there 
were  heavy  footsteps  in  the  principal  entry,  there  were 
shadows  passing  and  repassing  the  windows.  This  was 
not  an  evening  when  one  could  look  for  much  privacy  in 
the  sitting-room  of  Stein's  Tavern,  opening,  as  it  did,  both 
on  the  main  entrance  and  kitchen.  Still,  a  public  house 
is  every  man's  castle.  If  Angie  and  the  captain  had  that 
claim  to  the  sitting-room  which  belongs  to  first  occupants, 
strollers  on  the  platform  outside,  or  loungers  in  the  en 
try,  had  none  the  less  the  right  to  peep  in  at  the  windows 
or  listen  to  the  music.  One  party,  however,  could  scarcely 
be  justified  in  interrupting  the  other,  and  it  was  therefore 
a  barefaced  intrusion  as  well  as  an  insult,  when  a  tall 


100  HAUNTED  HEARTS. 

li_rure,  which  had  for  a  few  moments  darkened  one  of  the 
windows,  stalked  suddenly  into  the  room,  walked  directly 
up  to  the  little  refreshment  table,  brought  down  his  fiat 
upon  it  with  a  thump  which  >et  all  the  crockery  to  rattling, 
and  in  a  voice  of  wrath  exelaimed.  ••  Stop  thai  !  " 

The  music  stopped.  Angie  sprung  up,  and  stood  op 
posite  Geordie,  angry,  bewildered,  mortiticd.  She  did 
not  -peak  :  hut  the  captain,  coolly  ivtainini:  his  seat,  and 
suffering  his  white  hand  to  toy  with  the  guitar  strings, 
said  "  Really  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  stop  it,  I  say  !  "  continued  Geordie,  fiercely  : 
"  I  want  to  speak  to  Angie  Cousin." 

"Ah!  some  friend  of  yours,  Miss  Angle?"  queried 
the  captain,  survey ini:  (ieorire  ^ith  undisLMii-ed  contempt. 
"  If  so,  I  am  dumb."  And  he  waved  his  hand,  as  if  fore 
going  any  right  to  take  offence  in  consideration  of  its  be 
ing  Angie's  affair,  and  a  matter  quite  beneath  his  own 
notice. 

"Go  on  with  your  busine— ,  ymm-  man."  lie  added. 
with  a  patronizing  air;  and  quietly  layinir  down  his 
guitar,  the  captain  took  the  attitude  of  one  willing  to 
wait  the  pleasure  of  the  other  t\\<>.  in  consideration  of 
the  amusement  he  was  likely  to  derive  from  the  ru.-iic 
scene. 

If  the  man  of  the  world  despised  the  country  youth, 
the-  sentiment  wa-  mutual.  George  surveyed  the  Captain 
from  head  to  foot,  as  a  man  might  look  at  a  monkey. 
••  You  keep  clear  of  this,  now  ;  that's  your  safest  plan  !  " 
he  said,  by  way  of  a  warning;  then  turning  his  back 


A   SUDDEN  STOP    PUT   T-(^   f#A"  MV31U.         10* 

on  the  stranger,  he  came  between  him  and  Angle,  and 
faced  her  angrily. 

She  was  angry  too.  Her  pride  was  irritated  at 
George's  behavior,  the  whole  responsibility  of  which  the 
captain  had  thrown  upon  her.  Before  he  could  speak, 
accusingly  or  otherwise,  she,  as  usual,  took  the  offensive, 
saying,  "Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Geordie?  " 

"  You  are  ashamed  of  me,  Angie.  I've  seen  that 
plain  enough  this  long  while." 

"  And  no  wonder  !  " 

"  O,  no,  indeed  ;  no  wonder  at  all !  "  was  the  sarcastic 
rejoinder.  "  You've  kept  such  grand  company  of  late, 
it's  quite  time  you  should  have  done  with  old  friends." 

"  Old  or  new,  I  shall  choose  what  company  pleases 
me,  you  may  depend  upon  it." 

"  Of  course  you  will." 

"  And  that  won't  be  yours,  George  Rawle,  —  unless," 
she  added,  by  way  of  qualification,  —  "  unless  you 
should  become  a  very  different  man  from  what  you  are 
now." 

"And  what  am  I?  That's  the  very  thing  I've  come 
here  to  know,"  said  George,  defiantly.  "  Speak  out ; 
what  am  I  ?  " 

"  You're  a  rude,  unmannerly  fellow." 

"Is  that  all?     Go  on." 

"  All !  no.     I   can't  tell  you  what  you  are.     I  don't 

know  what  you  are,  nor  care.     I  wish  you'd  go  away." 

And  Angie,  worried  and  vexed,  glanced  anxiously  in  the 

direction  of  the  captain.      He  was  leaning  against  the 

9* 

? 


lirj  i  /    \  ///*///•    i  /.-. 

mantel-piece,  smiliiiL:  and  picking  hi.-  teeth  (the  la-t  not 
a  Nery  elegant  act  for  on, -of  hi-  In-ceding  :  a  hint,  perliap-, 
at  his  estimation  of  tin-  company  lie  \\a>  in). 

The  captain's  coolness  and  (Jcor^c'>  pei>istency  e\a  — 
pcrated  Amjie.  Mie  wa-  dctcnnincd  to  vindicate  her.-elf 
in  the  eyes  of  the  former  from  any  complicity  in  the  mi  — 
conduct  of  her  country  lover. 

••  You  shan't  stand  there  questioning  me,"  she  said,  ac 
companying  her  words  with  a  positive  motion  of  her  head. 
k-  I  won't  bear  it,  Geordie  ;  do  you  hear  me  ': 

She  might  well  add  this  emphatic  query,  for  either  he 
was  deaf,  or  what  was  equally  incredible,  had  no  inten 
tion  to  obey  her.  With  his  arms  folded,  he  stood  oUti- 
nate  and  determined.  She  turned  away  from  him,  hut  he 
: ii:a in  planted  him.-elf  l.efore  her.  She  stopped  short, 
and  frowned. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  Angic,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  go  till 
you  have  an-wercd  my  question." 

"What  question?" 

"  You  shall  tell  me  what  you  think  of  me  ;  what  they 
all  think.  I  have  a  right  to  know,  and  I  will." 

"Is  the  young  man's  character  in  jeopardy?"  asked 
the  captain,  in  mock  anxiety. 

The  question  and  the  manner  were  so  ludicrous  that 
Angie,  thoiii:li  provoked  at  their  sarcasm,  could  not  IV-M 
a  smile. 

The  Mood  rn.-hed  into  George's fffc06  as  he  >aw  himself 
the  t.liji-et  of  ridicule.  JVrhap.-  the  >pirit  lie  had  drank 
too  was  getting  into  his  head,  for  his  eye  grew  wild  and 


A   SUDDEN  STOP  PUT  TO   THE  MUSIC.        103 

restless,  and  his  tone  was  increasingly  vehement,  as  he 
exclaimed,  "  O,  it  is  sport  to  you,  is  it,  to  see  a  poor 
fellow  driven  to  the  wall  ?  Angie,"  —  and  he  grasped  her 
arm,  —  "  listen  to  me  one  minute,  and  tell  me  the  truth, 
if  you  have  one  grain  of  pity  left  for  an  old  friend. 
Every  body  has  slighted  me  lately ;  not  you  only,  but 
every  body.  What  is  the  reason  ?  " 

He  was  terribly  in  earnest.  Angie  felt  it,  and  would 
cither  have  expostulated  with  him  or  answered  seriously, 
but  for  a  diversion  given  to  her  feelings  by  a  jeering  sug 
gestion  from  the  captain  that  "  the  reason "  seemed 
palpable. 

At  this  intimation  she  stopped  short,  looked  distrust 
fully  at  George,  and  withdrew  from  his  touch. 

"  You  let  us  two  alone,  will  you  ?  "  said  George,  turn 
ing  upon  the  captain,  and  tightly  grasping  the  handle  of 
his  whip. 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  prompt  response.  "  I  am  at 
Miss  Angie's  bidding.  She  has  but  to  say  the  word,  and 
I  forbear  to  disturb  the  harmony  that  seems  to  exist 
between  you  ; "  and,  as  the  captain  stooped  to  pick  up  a 
bit  of  the  golden  wheat  which  had  fallen  from  Angie's 
hair,  he  caught  her  eye,  and  the  smile  on  his  face  was  full 
of  irony. 

It  was  an  even  chance  that  minute  whether  poor  Angie 
should  laugh  or  cry.  She  had  never  felt  so  babyish  and 
miserable,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  her  pride  had  never 
before  been  so  stung ;  Nature  craved  the  relief  of  tears, 
but  with  the  consciousness  of  the  captain's  eye  upon  her 


104  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

she  resolved  uot  to  make  a  fool  of  hei>elf.  and  so  forced 
a  laugh  —  and  a  most  hollow,  unnatural  laugh  it  waft, 

The  ('upturn  cuiv.-M.-d  the  bit  ul'  wheat,  and  turned  his 
tar,-  to  the  fire,  ostensibly  to  conceal  his  disposition  to 
mirth. 

And  Geordie !  They  had  much  better  have  struck 
him,  especially  Angle.  The  smart  of  the  blow  might 
have  been  .-outhcd  long  before  the  recollection  of  that 
mocking  laugh  could  be  effaced.  The  remembrance  of 
it  was  to  rankle  deep  in  (ieordie's  soul,  and  in  Angle's 

OWn  SOUl  deeper  yet. 

He  was  reckless  enough  before — he  was  maddened  now. 
He  was  not  intoxicated,  at  least  not  until  that  iustant. 
The  captain's  insinuation  had  wronged  him.  It  was 
true  he  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning,  and  following 
upon  his  lung  fa.-t  the  draught  he  had  taken  from  Nick 
Ely's  bottle  had  douhtle.-.-  helped  to  excite  his  brain.  Still 
he  had  hitherto  been  master  of  his  words  and  acts  ;  now 
he  was  the  victim  of  rage,  shame,  and  injured  love  rather 
than  of  alcohol. 

"It  ha>  come  to  this,  has  it?"  he  cried.  "You  are 

making  game  of  im you  and  that  puppy  !"  •  —  and  hi> 

glance  >hot  rapidly  from  Angie  to  the  Captain,  then 
fixed  itself  on  her.  "  Von  gi\e  yom>elf  up  to  him.  do 

you,  and  let  me  go  to  hell !  "  — and  coming  do>e  to 

her.  he  whi-pered  the  la-l  word  hoar-cly  in  her  ear. 

Angie  was  frightened.  She  uttered  a  -linht  excla 
mation  of  horror,  and  looked  up  in  George's  face  with 
an  anxioii-.  bewildered  expression. 


A    SUDDEN   STOP  PUT    TO    THE   MUSIC.       105 

Perhaps  there  was  a  shade  of  sympathy  in  this  up 
turned  look  which  emboldened  the  youth,  for  he  now 
caught  her  hand,  —  "  You  have  to  choose  between  us 
two,  Angie,"  he  hoarsely  ejaculated,  "  for  it's  now  or 
never." 

"  Ceme,  come,  young  man,  enough  of  that ! "  inter 
rupted  the  captain,  starting  forward  with  impudent  con 
fidence  in  his  right  to  act  as  umpire,  and  break  up  this 
scene  the  moment  the  young  man,  as  he  termed  him, 
appeared  to  be  going  too  far  ;  and  drawing  Angie's  arm 
through  his,  he  led  her  a  few  steps  towards  the  door, 
saying,  in  a  protecting  tone  intended  to  reassure  her,  — 
"  let  me  take  you  under  my  wing.  See  !  the  musicians 
have  returned  from  their  supper,  —  we  will  forget  this 
vulgar  contretemps  in  a  lively  reel." 

But  he  was  not  destined  to  bear  away  his  partner  so 
easily.  George  sprang  forward,  caught  Angie's  disen 
gaged  hand,  and  contended  for  the  possession. 

"  Let  go  that  lady's  hand  !  "  cried  the  captain,  im 
peratively. 

"For  Heaven's  sake  don't  leave  me  so,  Angie?" 
implored  George. 

Angie  looked  helplessly  from  one  to  the  other.  The 
contest  had  brought  them  all  to  the  door  opening  upon 
the  entry  and  opposite  to  the  bar-room. 

"  Hands  off,  you  scoundrel !  "  persisted  the  captain, 
"  or  I'll  call  for  help." 

George's  answer  was  a  muttered  oath  and  his  horse 
whip  raised  in  the  air. 


HAUNTI  i>    III    \i:TS. 


Anirie  screamed,  struggled  to  e.-cape  from  them  both, 

and    looked   around    her  a<  if  in  the  hoj f  -o,;,'    timelv 

interference.  Her  look  and  cry  were  responded  to 
instantly,  but  in  the  la>t  wav  -he  could  BY6T  have 
dreamed  of. 

old  man,  verv  old,  came  out  of  the  bar*room. 
AVith  an  eve  full  of  rebuke,  and  a  baud  rai-ed  in 
solemn  warning,  he  faced  the  di-ivputable  scene,  and 
said,  in  a  VOIC6  ol'  authority.  "  Voun^  men,  ,-tand 
back  !  let  LTO  the  iral  !  Is  that  the  way  to  treat  a 
woman?  " 

They  all  retreated  a  step  or  two  within  the  sitting- 
room.  George  dropped  Annie's  hand  involuntarily; 
the  captain  would  have  retained  her  arm  within  his, 
but  she  proudlv  withdrew  it,  thouirh  maintaining  her 
place  close  at  his  side.  The  white-bended  veteran, 
whose  puritanic  dress  and  severe  demeanor  wen  cal 
culated  to  inspire  iv-pect.  if  not  fear,  looked  gravely 
from  the,  to  him,  unwonted  sight  of  a  couple  attired 
in  ball-room  co-tunic  to  the  equally  unfamiliar  a.-peet 
of  the  OOUntry-bred  vouth,  who.  with  his  jockev  ridiuir- 
jacki-t.  mud-Splashed  boots  and  trou-ers,  lln-he<l  face, 
malted  hair,  ami  hor.-ewhij)  still  vibrating  in  his  hand. 
«rai  a  yet  nioi-e  indecorous  object  in  the  eyes  of  the 
stern  old  man. 

u  Georjre  llawle,"  he  .-aid  at  length,  fixing  his  eye  on 
(leordie,  and  speakiuir,  svllable  bv  ,-vllable,  "is  that 
yon  r" 

Gcorg«-    hunir  down    hi-    head,  and    made    no    fcQSWer. 


A    SUDDEN   STOP    PUT    TO    THE    MUSIC.        107 

The  unexpected  apparition  of  his  uncle,  Baltimore 
Rawle,  seemed  to  have  paralyzed  him. 

"  Boy,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a  pause  that  was 
heavy  with  meaning,  "  you  are  a  disgrace  to  your 
ancestors  ! " 

George  looked  up  hastily.  There  was  an  instan 
taneous  flash  of  his  eye,  which  was  the  next  minute 
cast  down,  as  before.  Accustomed,  from  earliest  boy 
hood,  to  hold  this  venerable  member  of  his  family  in 
the  utmost /awe,  he  might  hate  or  curse  him  behind 
his  back,  but  he  could  not  defy  his  presence. 

"It  is  well  your  father  never  lived  to  see  this  day," 
continued  the  old  man,  —  "  never  lived  to  have  his  gray 
hairs  brought  down  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  by  an 
unworthy  son.  I  pity  your  poor  mother." 

The  hand  which  held  the  whip  trembled  at  these 
words,  perhaps  with  rage,  perhaps  with  shame,  possi 
bly  from  some  more  heart-stirring  emotion. 

Baultie  Rawle  now  turned  to  Angie  with,  "  What  is 
your  name,  young  woman  ?  " 

"  Angevine  Cousin,"  she  answered,  humbly. 

"  I  can't  speak  that ;  but  no  matter  ;  you've  kept  com 
pany  some  with  him  of  late,  miss  ?  "  and  he  pointed  to 
his  nephew. 

Angie,  still  humbly,  signified  a  sort  of  assent.  The 
captain  laughed.  Was  nothing  serious  in  that  man's 
eyes  ? 

"And  you've  dismissed  him"  (the  old  man  judged 
this  from  the  attitude  of  the  parties  in  the  scene  he 


108  B A  I     \    ll.lt    HEARTS. 

had  just  witne-M -d).  "Yotfva  d..ne  ri-ht.  miss,  and 
K-t  me  tell  you.  me,  liis  uncle,  that  you're  well  rid  of 
him." 

Perhaps  Augie  was  not  so  convinced  of  this.  At  all 
events,  at  thi.-  crisis,  she  mo\c<l  a  Mep  further  from  tin* 
captain,  a  step  nearer  to  ( ieonlie. 

i  "And  you,  Mr.  Military-man/'  said  old  Hawle.  ad 
dressing  the  captain,  and  taking  a  somewhat  curimi- 
survey  of  his  person,  u  you're  a  stranger,  I  reckon,  in 
these  parts.  If  so,  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  whoh- 
soine  advice.  Quarrelling  and  bandying  words  is  ul\\  ay- 
disgraceful,  especially  when  there's  a  woman  con.-arned. 
and  I  warn  you,  as  a  friend,  that  the  y..uiiLr  man  I  just 
raiiirht  you  wraniHiiiLT  with,  thouirh  lie's  come  of  good 
stock,  is  a  rotten  hou-h.  Kvery  body  knows  him  for  an 
idler.  It  is  easy  enough  this  minute  to  see  c  drunkard ' 
written  on  his  face,  and  if  you  \\ill  take  an  honest 
man's  word  for  it.  he  is  little  short  of  a  thiet'.  Such 
society  is  corrupting.  His  own  relations  are  ashanu -d 
of  him,  and  I,  his  father's  brother,  and  the  head  of  his 
family,  think  it  a  solemn  duty  to  put  strangers  on  their 
guard  against  him.  as  I  would  a-j-ain.M  any  other  nui 
sance." 

u  Thank  you,  sir,"  'said  the  captain,  with  a  mock 
irravity,  which  the  old  man,  in  his  simplicity,  took 
for  gratitude.  ••  I'll  take  your  ad\  , 

As  he  spoke  and  howed,  he  dropped  his  bit  of  wheat 
and  stooped  to  reclaim  it  ;  hut  Annie,  to.,  quirk  fur  him, 
snatched  it  from  the  floor,  and  holding  it  lasi.  drew 


A    SUDDEN   STOP    PUT   TO    THE   MUSIC.       109 

nearer  to  Geordie.  It  almost  looked  like  going  over  to 
his  side. 

Until  now  George  had  not  changed  his  position,  had 
only  once  raised  his  head ;  but  to  be  thus  publicly 
traduced  and  held  up  to  scorn  was  more  than  he  could 
bear.  He  set  his  teeth,  clinched  his  fist,  and  advanced 
a  step  towards  Baultie,  with  "  You  lie,  old  man !  by 
Heaven,  you  lie  !  To  suspect  your  own  nephew's  honest 
character  is  false  enough,  and  mean  enough,  without 
branding  him  to  the  world  as  a  villain ! " 

Baltimore  Rawle  was  a  stern,  uncompromising  man, 
accustomed  to  exact  obedience  and  enforce  discipline. 
That  George  should  venture  to  accuse  and  defy  him, 
was  adding  sacrilege  to  sin. 

"  Back ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  would  have  to  a 
dog;  "back — boy,  and  be  silent!"  and,  as  if  to  en 
force  his  words,  he  repelled  George  with  his  arm,  and 
compelled  him  to  retreat,  until  he  stood  with  his  back 
braced  against  the  wall. 

Angie  crept  close  to  him.  He  burned  with  wrath  — 
so  did  she.  That  she  should  slight  or  ill  use  him  her 
self,  was  one  thing ;  but  that  any  body  else  should  de 
fame  him,  was  quite  another.  At  this  moment,  the  two 
made  common  cause.  "  Stand  there,  George  Rawle," 
continued  the  old  man,  imperatively,  "  and  listen  to  what 
I  have  to  say.  I  call  Heaven  to  witness,"  —  and  he  raised 
his  hand,  as  one  does  in  taking  an  oath,  — "  and  you,  Mr. 
Military-man,"  to  the  captain,  "  and,  you  too,  Diedrich 
Stein,"  to  Stein,  who,  with  eager  lips  apart,  had  first 
10 


110  I/    I   I     \  P|    /;      Hi:    ,   I; 

stolen  into  the  entry,  and  then  into  tin-  room,  and  >o  li.-id 
heard  ami  .-een  all;  "ami  "he  wa-  -oini:  to  in 
clude  Anirie,  but  something  in  her  look  forbade  him,  .-«. 
In-  -uniincd  up  hi>  audience  with,  ••  1  call  nil  of  you  to 
wiine-s  tliat  this  unirrau-ful  boy  has  this  ni-lit  iiiMilt.  <1 
and  t_rivfii  tin-  lie  to  his  old  uncle;  that  In-  dOMTVei  i 
•  •nr.M'  and  shall  have  it." 

Then  turning  again  towards  George,  he  went  on  tlm>  : 
k-  II'  you'd  grown  nj>  the  honest,  peaceable  lad  you  gave 
promise  of,  tin-  fruits  of  fourscore  year  of  industry* ini^ht 
all  ha'  IH-CII  yourn,  and  with  'cm  a  blessing.  But  now. 
Lr"  where  you  will,  and  live  a-  you  will,  you  son  of 
iniquity!  Wrangle,  riot,  and  be  drunken;  spend  other 
men's  money,  and  wallow* in  your  own  sin;  but  remem 
ber  that  you  carry  with  you  all  your  lift-  the  legacy  of 
an  old  man's  curse,  and  that  alter  death  he  will  he  a 
witness  ai_raiii-t  you  at  Heaven's  bar.  Now  begone,  and 
don't  let  me  ever  see  your  face  apt  in  in  this  world." 

lilinded  with  passion  and  pale  \\ith  r.i-v.  (i, 
stood  and  heard  his  uncle  out,  then  slowly  raised  his 
clinched  fist,  but  met  the  nntlinchinir  oye  of  the  old  man, 
and  his  resolution  failing  him,  the  hand  dropped  as  if 
paN.-d.  lie  then  glanced  \acantly  at  tho  faces  around 
him.  but  made  no  movement  to  depart.  A  sly  gleam 
of  satisfaction  shot  through  the  decent  veil  of  i 
which  Dicdrich  Stein's  countenaix-e  frafl  \\  earing.  The 
captain's  features  manifested  weariness  and  di-;_:uM  of 
the  whole  xvnr.  Annie's  face  alone  expiv— <-d  real 
sympathy  for  either  party.  The  blond  had  mounted  to 


A'SUDDEX   STOP    PUT    TO    THE    MUSIC.       Ill 

her  temples,  and  her  eye  absolutely  glared  with  anger, 
as  she  followed  every  look  and  word  of  Baultie  Rawle. 

"  Take  yourself  off  now,  boy  !  "  he  said,  seeing  that 
George  still  hesitated.  "  Your  uncle  Stein  will  give 
you  no  harbor  here,  not  if  he  is  his  own  friend  or 
mine,"  and  Baultie  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of 
the  door. 

Stein,  with  his  usual  servility,  muttered  something 
about  being  sorry  to  turn  a  relation  out  of  doors,  but 
that  Baultie  was  the  best  judge  of  what  was  right.  George 
stood  a  minute  more,  a  prey  to  passions  so  conflicting 
as  to  render  him  torpid  ;  then  with  a  start  which  seemed 
to  impart  an  electric  shock  to  every  body  present,  he 
rushed  out  of  the  room  and  the  house,  dashed  through 
the  line  of  light  which  radiated  from  the  tavern 
windows,  and  was  lost  in  the  darkness  beyond. 

Forgetting  every  thing  but  her  own  dreadful  anxiety, 
Angie  pressed  her  face  against  the  window-pane  and 
saw  him  depart ;  saw  more  than  she  had  dreamed  of 
seeing,  or  was  likely  soon  to  forget ;  for,  as  he  shot  past 
the  bar-room  door,  he  had  sufficient  time  and  presence 
of  mind  to  make  a  signal  to  a  man  who  had  been  wait 
ing  for  him  there,  —  the  same  shabby,  bloated  man,  with 
the  sore  finger  and  greedy  eye,  whom  Angie  had  seen 
in  his  company  when  she  alighted  from  her  father's 
carryall  that  evening ;  she  also  saw  the  man,  in  re 
sponse  to  the  signal,  come  out  of  the  tavern  and  follow 
in  the  direction  George  had  taken,  —  and  the  man  was 
Nicholas  Bly. 


112  HA  I'  Jf  TED    HEARTS. 

"Voila!"  at  this  instant,  exclaimed  Mr. 
sentin(Lr  him>clf  in  tin-  door-\\  a\ '.  "  Ah.  Monsieur  (  ap- 
itaine.  J  'ave  found  you  at  la-t.  You  aiv  a  man  of 
much  re.-oiirce.  Ma  foi  !  You  would  make  one  boule 
vard  dc  Paris  out  of  dc  leetlc  parlour  of  Monsieur 
Strin  :  '  and  the  old  Frenchman  glanced  at  tin-  tit, -it-id. 
table  at  which  the  captain  and  Angic  had  been  supping, 
and  rubhcd  his  hands  in  high  glee.  "Kb  bien  !  "  he 
continued,  in  a  different  tone,  as,  taking  a  second  survey 
of  the  group  on  whom  lie  had  intruded,  he  di-trctcd  the 
discordance  between  his  own  humor  and  theirs  ;  "  you  are 
not  one  party  of  pleasure  I  tink.  Monsieur  Kawle,"  — 
and  turning  to  the  old  man,  in  whose  rigid  face  and 
figure  the  quick  instincts  of  Mr.  Cousin  detected  the 
kill-jov  of  the  occasion,  —  "I  did  not  'ave  expect  to  >••,- 
you  here.  I  hope  you  'ave  ver'  good  health  :  "  and, 
bowing  respectfully,  Mr.  Cousin  stepped  up  to  shake 
hands  with  his  agt-d  i'ello \v-to\vnsman. 

"  I  am  here  by  accident,  sir,"  an<\vnvd  Baultie,  with 
emphasis,  and  taking  no  notice  whatever  of  the  olK-ivd 
hand.  "  My  wagon  trace  gave  out  a  few  rods  yonder, 
elM  you  may  depend  upon  it  I  would  never  have  made 
myself  a  witness  to  such  sinful  fandangoes  a-  that  :" 
and  lie  pointed  an  abhorrent  linger  at  the  dancers,  now 
returning  in  a  hurry  from  -upper,  and  making  a  uoi-y 
rush  into  their  hall-room.  ••  Such  spectacle-  arc  ri-kv 
for  young  men,  but  for  old  men  they  are  scandal""  . 
Ha\c  th.-y  put  my  horse  to,  Stein?  if .  so,  the 
I'm  on  tin-  road  the  better." 


A    SUUDEN   STOP    PUT    TO    THE   MUSIC.       113 

Stein  started  to  make  the  necessary  inquiry,  and  the 
iron  old  man  followed  him  without  bidding  any  one 
good  night. 

The  Frenchman,  rebuked  and  crest-fallen,  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  drew  near  the  fire,  as  if  he  felt  a  chill 
creeping  over  him. 

"'Take  a  hand  at  piquet,  sir,  and  a  glass  of  wine?" 
suggested  the  captain,  with  an  air  of  perfect  unconcern. 
"  Bring  another  glass,  Stein,  and  a  pack  of  cards,"  he 
called  over  his  shoulder  to  the  retreating  landlord ;  at 
the  same  time  seating  himself  at  the  table,  and  drawing 
a  chair  up  opposite  to  him  for  Mr.  Cousin. 

The  latter  did  not  take  it  at  once,  but  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  fire  warming  himself. 

u  You  will  catch  one  cold  at  dat  window,  ma  chere," 
he  said  to  Angie,  who  seemed  to  be  looking  out  at  the 
night.  "  Beside,  if  dat  big  ogre  man  see  you  dere  when 
he  come  to  drive  away,  he  will  give  you  one  look  to  kill." 

"  I'm  not  cold,  papa,"  said  Angie,  with  difficulty 
commanding  her  voice,  for  the  poor  girl  was  crying. 
The  captain  prudently  forbore  to  add  his  expostu 
lations. 

Stein  now  came  hurrying  back  with  the  wine-glass 
and  cards.  "  None  of  the  cleanest,  cap'n,"  he  said, 
apologetically,  to  his  guest,  as  he  handed  him  the 
pack,  "  but  I  believe  there's  the  right  number.  Keal 
Madary  !  twenty  year  old  ;  cap'n's  own  private  stock  !  " 
he  whispered  to  Mr.  Cousin,  as  he  filled  the  glass  for 
him.  The  captain,  slightly  wincing,  shuffled  the  dirty 
10* 


Ill  H  \  i   .\  /  /  />    HMA  i:  i 


N  :  Mr.  Cou-in  -ipped  hi-  wine,  ,-macked  hi-  lip-. 
and  declared  him-ell'  ••  l>ien  content."  They  began  to 
play. 

For  u-u  ..r  lilt.  MMI  minute-  tin-  ,-ilencc  of  the  little  >ii- 
t  ing-room  wa-  only  broken  by  the  noise  from  the  adjacent 
kit  Him,  jiinl  Mich  ejaculation-  a-  ••  Point  !  "  ••  Sequence  !" 
or.  "  Your  play,  sir  !  " 

••  Will  we  make  one  more  ad\  cntnre  ?  "  a-keil  Mr. 
Cousin,  as  tlie  iraine  terminated  in  the  captain's  la\or. 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  obligiifg  antaLroni>t,"  —  that 
i-.  mile—  Mix  Cousin  will  honor  me  with  her  hand  for 
another  dance  ;  "  and  he  looked  inquiringly  at  An«rie. 

"  Me?  O,  no,"  answered  Angie,  slightly  turning  her 
head.  "  I'd  rather  not  dance  any  more."  Then,  wiping 
away  the  tew  tears  she  had  >hed,  and  smothering  the 
many  that  were  unwept,  she  ventured  to  approach  her 
lather,  and  say,  "I  am  tired,  papa.  I  want  to  go  home." 

••  Kh  bieu,  ma  chere,  I  am  ver'  content,"  re-ponded  the 
eTOT  e.implae«-iit  little  Kren<-hmau.  ''We  shall  go  home. 
You  'a\e  dance  much.  I  have  >om.-  latiguc  also,  —  and 
dat  -mail  .Jehu  dat  is  waiting  to  drive  the  equipage,  — 
I  'ave  pity  for  that  garyon.  lie  will  bo  sleeping  «»n 
•OOM  chair.  I  shall  go  this  minute  to  lind  him.  V.-. 

.    ma    chere,   it   is   ver'   good   resolve;    we    .-hall   go 

home." 

The  pleasure  -loving  little  Frenchman  lingered  one 
moment,  howe\cr,  at  the  lire  —  just  long  eiioii-jh  to  re 
plenish  his  gla.-s,  and  while  pledging  his  entertainer  to 
Lri\e  Angie  the  chance  she  desired,  to  slip  awav  with 
only  a  hasty  good  night  to  Captain  .J 


A    SUDDEN   STOP    PUT    TO    THE   MUSIC.        115 

The  captain  loitered  some  time  in  the  entry-way,  with 
the  intention  of  escorting  her  to  the  equipage,  which 
was  not  long  in  making  its  appearance.  But  any  girl 
who  knows  how  to  win  attention,  knows  how  to  evade 
it  at  will.  So  Angie  contrived  to  run  down  stairs  at  a 
moment  when  his  back  was  turned,  and  by  the  time  he 
was  again  on  the  lookout,  the  tall  carryall  was  swinging 
away  from  the  door. 

u  Ah,  Miss  Angie,  you  leave  us  early  ! "  were  Stein's 
parting  words,  as  he,  always  on  hand,  put  up  the  steps, 
and  closed  the  door  of  the  carriage.  "  You  carry  all  be 
fore  you  while  you  stay,  but  you  don't  forget  the  old  adage, 
that  folks  must  get  all '  their  beauty-sleep  on  the  early 
side  o'  midnight.  The  rule  is  a  good  rule  for  most  folks, 
but  in  your  case  it  works  to  a  charm,  I  must  say." 

Angie  had  no  spirit  for  responding  to  Stein's  compli 
ments.  She  was  only  too  glad  to  lean  back  in  the 
carriage  and  be  left  to  her  own  thoughts.  Still,  as  the 
vehicle  wheeled  round  the  corner,  and  took  the  cross-road, 
its  passengers  could  scarcely  escape  a  full  view  of  the  ball 
room,  visible  through  its  long  line  of  windows.  Angie 
gave  one  look,  and,  —  O  strange  contrariety  of  human 
nature  !  —  in  spite  of  all  she  had  felt  and  suffered  that 
night,  owing  partly,  perhaps,  to  this  very  circumstance, 
she  experienced  a  sudden  thrill  of  mortification  and 
chagrin  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  gallant  captain  stand 
ing  up  in  a  country-dance  that  was  just  forming,  courtly, 
self-possessed,  handsome  as  ever,  and  apparently  en 
grossed  by  the  charms  of  Polly  Stein. 


110  •  /    N  /  /  i>  n  i    i  /.'  is. 

"NVlu-thrr  Tolly  had  M>ULrht  him  «»r  hi«  la-r.  hou 
they  ilaiKvil  to^oiluT,  and  what  time  the  ball  broke  up, 
an-  matin's  \viih  \\liich  Mr  havi>  nothing  to  do.  The 
belle  of  the  ball  has  gone  home,  and  we  have  no  motive 

for  outstaying  her. 


TURNING    THE    TABLES.  117 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

TURNING   THE   TABLES. 

BEWARE  of  quick  tempers  and  hot  blood,  whispers 
Prudence,  and  it  is  a  wholesome  warning ;  for  fire,  in  all 
its  forms,  is  a  mad  element,  and  needs  control.  But 
beware  of  heart-burnings,  is  the  voice  of  a  deeper  wis 
dom  yet ;  for  the  former  are  to  the  latter  what  surface 
flame  is  to  central  fire.  The  one  often  evaporates  in 
smoke,  the  other  may  thunder  in  the  earthquake  or  the 
volcano. 

Hot-headed  men  are  suspicious,  quarrelsome,  danger 
ous.  But  there  is  no  nature  on  earth  so  stern  and 
desperate  as  that,  which,  naturally  confiding,  and  slow 
to  believe  in  wrong,  becomes  at  last  convinced  of  mis 
placed  trust  and  deadly  injury.  Shallow  natures,  like 
soft  metals,  are  prone  to  quick  but  evanescent  heats. 
Strong  souls,  like  iron  ore,  can  only  be  fired  by  many 
elements  of  combustion,  long  combined ;  but  when  they 
are  once  aglow,  they  are  streams  of  fire  that  course  in 
deep  channels  and  take  hard  forms.  Thus  moulded  by 
fate  or  fortune,  they  are  ready  instruments  for  stern  work 
or  for  desperate  ventures. 


118  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

Men  do  not  understand  this,  or  if  they  acknowledge  it 
•act.  they  do  not  recogni/e  it  in  individual  in.-tances. 
Popular  prejudice  has  always  favored  the  theory  that 
(|ii[<-k  tempers  result  from  intense  sensibility,  and  conse 
quently,  while  a  man's  aiiLrry  outbreaks  arc  a  subject  of 
divad.  hi-  warm  lu-art  is  equally  the  theme  of  rulo^iimi. 
lint  is  this  theory  true?  That  there  is  a  correspondence 
between  the  heart  and  the  head,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
Hut  is  it' the  deepest  feelings,  the  tendeiv-t  heart.-,  the 
ma-:er  powers  that  vent  themselves  in  extravagant  de 
monstrations,  either  of  love,  of  threatening,  or  of  wrath? 
Fickle  preferences,  short -lived  hate,  feeble  purpose 
plode  like  gunpowder,  and  may  be  known  by  the  fla-h  ; 
but  irreat  heart-  nouri-h  secret  liivs.  and  only  tho-e  who 
explore  deep  feel  the  heat.  Thus  genius  smoulders  for 
yean  while  the  kindling  process  goes  on,  and  reso 
lutions  ripen  by  imperceptible  shades  of  growth,  and 
unexpressed  love  is  constant  as  the  sun,  and  hate 
becomes  a  tyrant. 

Then  when  some  great  deed  is  done,  the  household, 
the  community,  the  nation,  wonder:  thev  had  not  traced 
the  pmeess;  how  could  they  anticipate  the  result? 

Had  the  purblind  people  at  Stein'-  Plain-  been  a-ked 
who  among  them  would  be  least  likely  t«>  be  i/uiltv  of  a 
violent,  an  unnatural,  or  a  d«--peratc.  net,  thcv  would, 
perhaps,  have  been  unanimous  in  naminir  (ieorire  llawle. 
What  !  (ieordie'r  The  patient,  uii.-elfi-h.  evj-n-tcinpen-d 
Gtordfc?  Idle  he  might  be.  thoii'_rlitle--.  unthrifty, — 
on  the  down-hill  of  dissipation,  some  might  add,  —  but 


TURNING    THE    TABLES.  \     119 

capable  of  sudden,  fearful,  reckless  resolve  and  deed,  — 
O,  no  !  never. 

But,  because  George  had  borne  much,  was  it  certain 
that  he  would  bear  every  thing  ?  Because  his  heart  was 
by  nature  true  and  trustful,  was  it  less  likely  to  be 
envenomed  by  faithlessness  or  injustice?  _  Because  he 
had  vacillated  long,  was  it  inconceivable  that  he  should 
some  day  make  up  his  mind?  And  when  the  recoil 
came,  when  he  was  maddened,  when  he  was  resolved, 
would  the  result  be  nothing  more  than  a  noisy  explosion  ? 
Would  it  not  be  the  turning-point  in  a  lifetime  ? 

Perhaps  the  possibility  of  all  this  first  flashed  upon 
Angie's  mind  on  the  night  of  the  ball.  Perhaps,  long 
and  well  as  she  had  known  George  Rawle,  she  had  never 
realized  the  manhood  there  was  in  him  until  she  saw  it 
defied  by  another  than  herself.  Only  in  the  light  of 
others'  contempt  did  she  begin  to  appreciate  the  native 
forces  thus  trodden  under  foot,  and  to  dread  their 
rebound. 

Anxiety  for  George,  however,  was  not  the  only  emo 
tion  that  sent  Angie  home  from  the  ball  early  and  dis 
satisfied.  The  sudden  influx  of  womanly  fear,  which 
took  possession  of  her  at  his  abrupt  departure,  had 
brought  her  nervous  excitement  to  a  climax,  and  reduced 
her  to  the  weakness  of  tears  ;  but  a  vague  sense  of  anger, 
mortification,  disappointment,  and  finally  jealousy,  all 
combined  to  chafe,  irritate,  and  oppress  her.  Very  tired 
she  professed  to  be,  and  so  went  at  once  to  bed.  For 
Angie  to  plead  fatigue  after  a  few  hours  dancing  was  a 


120  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

mere  pretence,  and  yet  it  may  be  doubted  whether  truth 
itself  could  have  found  a  better  expre»ion  for  IK 
of  mind.  She  was  tired  of  herself,  with  whom  she  ha«l 
been  so  well  satisfied  at  the  commencement  of  the  even 
ing ;  tired  of  every  hody  whom  she  liad  been  di-po-i-d  to 
like  ;  tired  of  _r  very  tiling  from  which  she  had  anticipated 
plea-mv.  To  Lr'-t  away  from  the  ball,  reach  home, 
•  •-••ape  her  father's  prattle,  turn  the  key  of  her. door  upon 
old  Happy,  and  thus,  in  a  figurative  sense,  upon  the 
whole  world, — that  was  sufficient  satisfaction  and  relief 
tor  the  present. 

Exhausted  by  painful  excitement,  and  experiencing 
that  reaction  which  almost  amounts  to  apathy,  she 
mechanically  took  off  her  finery  —  her  last  lively  emotion 
tor  the  niirht  evincing  itself  in  the  little  outburst  of  \.  \,i- 
tion  with  which  she  tossed  lace,  flowers,  and  muslin  into 
a  heap,  and  thrust  them  into  a  bureau  drawer.  It  was 
altogether  too  cold  in  her  room  for  any  time  to  be  wa-tcd 
in  listlessnes^  or  meditation,  and  the  frosty  weather 
having  driven  her  to  bed,  nature  and  habit  soon  put  her 
to  sleep; 

Kit  her  a  night's  rest  or  the  influence  of  daylight 
everted  a  happy  effect,  for  morning  found  her  with  her 
accustomed  life  and  energy  restored ;  and  if  her  spirits 
were  still  depressed,  there  was  nothing  in  her  looks  or 
movements  to  contradict  a  frequent  assertion  of  the 
neighbors  that  Angie  Cousin  was  "  a  smart  little  pie< v." 
She  was  up  as  early  as  usual,  and  more  than  commonly 
active  in  her  daily  round  of  employment*.  It  is  true  that. 


TURNING    THE    TABLES,  121 

as  she  peered  diligently  into  the  corners  of  the  sitting- 
room  in  search  of  dust,  her  brow  was  more  contracted 
and  anxious  than  the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant ;  there 
was  a  thoughtful  pensiveuess  in  the  manner  with  which, 
before  washing  the  breakfast  things,  she  stirred  the  hot 
dish-water  with  her  little  mop,  and  there  was  a  most  un 
lucky  vehemence  in  the  way  in  which  she  dashed  the  tea 
pot  against  the  closet  shelf,  and  broke  the  nose  off. 
Similar  fluctuations  of  temper  attended  her  through  the 
morning.  Now  she  stood  at  the  window,  gazing  down 
the  road  as  if  she  were  expecting  some  one  ;  then  walked 
to  the  fireplace,  and  seemed  to  find  interest  and  excite 
ment  in  heaping  on  wood  and  stirring  up  a  great  blaze  ; 
then  paused  before  a  mirror,  and  surveyed  her  own 
features,  without  observing  their  dull  and  vacant  ex 
pression.  But  the  day  was  passing  heavily.  Angie's 
active  duties  were  accomplished,  and  she  could  not  com 
pose  herself  to  any  sedentary  occupation.  It  was  dreary 
out  of  doors,  the  sky  gray,  the  weather  cold  and  raw,  and 
a  snow-storm  threatening.  Mr.  Cousin  was  pottering 
about  at  the  barn  in  his  queer  French  fashion,  and  Angie 
experienced  an  unusual  sense  of  loneliness  and  desertion. 
None  of  the  girls  would  come  to  see  her  and  talk  over 
the  ball  on  such  a  dismal  day,  and  she  shouldn't  want 
their  company  if  they  did  come.  At  another  time  she 
could  have  put  on  her  hood  and  run  down,  as  was  often 
her  habit,  to  sit  an  hour  with  Mrs.  Rawle,  George's 
mother.  The  distance  was  not  great.  She  was,  even 
now,  watching  the  smoke  of  the  cottage  chimney,  and 
11 


I'JJ  HA  UN  TED 

thinking  how  neighborly  it  looked.  But  to-day  she  would 
not  go  there  for  the  world.  Geordie  mi^ht  he  at  home, 
and  if  not.  Mrs.  Kawle  would  talk  about  nothing  but  hijn. 
How  angrv  In-  had  gone  off!  —  and  no  wonder!  That 
wicked  old  uuclr  of  hi-  !  how  he  had  lied  about  the  poor 
fellow!  She  wished — she  wished —  (),  slie  couldn't 
think  of  any  punishment  had  enough  to  wish  that  old 
man  !  I>ut  then  (ieonlie  himself  had  heha\ed  very  badly, 
coming  in  looking  so  rowdy,  and  with  that  horrid  h.»r-e- 
joekey  waiting  outside  ;  and  then  treating  her  -o  rudely 
as  he  did,  and  insulting  the  captain  !  Yes  —  (Jeonlie  had 
suffered  great  injustice,  and  it  was  a  s-hame  !  —  an  autul 
shame!  (and  here  airain  >he  put  in  a  parenthesis  of 
hativd  to  IJaultie)  ;  hut  then  he  owed  her  an  apology, 
and  the  captain,  too  ;  and  she  would  have  him  to  know 
that  he  must  treat  h«-r  and  IPT  friends  with  respect,  or 
she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Sin-  would  give 
any  thing  to  see  him.  though,  if  it  were  only  for  five 
minutes!  Where  was  lie?  she  wondered,  and  in  what 
company?  Could  any  part  of  what  old  Baultie  said  he 
true?  and  if  BO,  what  ili.-Lrraee  (irordie  wa-  bringing  upon 
himself  and  her!  He  had  caused  her  anxiety  and  mor- 
t ill. -at ion  enoii-h  already.  What  must  the  captain  have 
thought  at  seeing  such  an  outlaw  and  disturber  of  tin- 
peace  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  her?  Of  course  such  a 
gentleman  as  the  captain  must  have  been  disgusted.  He 
was  going  away  in  a  day  or  two.  She  wondered  if  she 
.-hmild  have  a  «  hanre  to  set  herself  right  in  his  eyes? 
M;e  hoped  so.  What  would  he  be  likely  .to  be  doing 


TURNING    THE    TABLES.  123 

to-day?  Perhaps,  —  and  here  she  felt  just  such  a  sharp 
twinge  as  she  had  experienced  the  night  before,  —  perhaps 
he  and  Polly  Stein  were  cracking  and  eating  nuts  to 
gether  by  the  kitchen  fire  at  the  tavern.  She  had  heard 
Polly  boast  of  their  enjoying  themselves  in  that  way 
every  day  after  dinner.  She  didn't  more  than  half 
believe  it,  though,  —  she  wouldn't. 

With  this  spasmodic  resolve  to  be  incredulous  of  every 
thing  disagreeable,  she  raised  her  eyes  from  a  little  spot 
on  the  rag  carpet,  upon  which  they  had  been  fixed  while 
she  meditated,  and  looking  restlessly  out  of  the  window, 
she  saw  —  could  it  be  ?  or  was  she  blinded  by  the 
snow-flakes  which  were  now  filling  the  air  ?  —  and  she 
looked  more  intently  ;  yes,  —  and  she  gave  a  nervous 
start,  —  it  was  the  captain,  and  somebody  following  him 
—  a  boy  !  —  Stein's  stable-boy  —  and  bringing  with  him 
the  guitar-case. 

"  And  here  I  am  with  this  old  print  on,"  she  said  to 
herself,  retreating  from  the  window,  "  and  a  colored 
neckerchief,  and  a  hole  in  my  shoe  ! "  Let  it  be  men 
tioned,  in  connection  with  this  last  circumstance,  that 
Angie  was  not  slovenly  —  she  was  naturally  the  pink  of 
neatness  —  but  they  were  so  poor,  and  she  had  but  one 
other  pair,  and  the  only  way  to  save  them  was  to  wear 
the  old  ones  at  home. 

"O  Happy!"  she  exclaimed,  in  something  halfway 
between  a  whisper  and  a  shout,  as  she  fled  up  the  narrow 
stairs  that  led  from  the  kitchen  to  her  little  bed-room, 
"  Captain  Josselyn  is  coming !  Ask  him  in  to  the  sitting- 


llM  HAUXTED    HEARTS. 

i'  "in!     Put  on  another  stick  of  wood!     I'll  be  down  in 
n  minute  !  " 

K\ery  woman,  almost  every  woman,  knows  what  such 
a  minute  is.  —  a  period  of  hurry,  agitation,  and  intri: 
ti\ity,  longer  or  shorter,  according  t<>  the  capability  .>f  the 
individual.  Angie  being,  as  we  have  -aid.  a  " -mart  little 
."  reappeared  in  an  incivdihly  brief  space  of  time. 
looking,  in  her  dark  b<>ml>a/ctte  dross  and  broad  white  frill, 
almoM  as  pretty  as  sin-  did  at  the  hall.  Mr.  Cousin  com 
ing  from  the  barn,  had  met  the  captain  at  the  door,  and 
accompanied  him  in,  so  the  delay  on  her  part  was  of  no 
consequence.  Already  the  courtly  little  Frenchman,  grat 
ified  at  the  prospect  of  a  guest  and  his  revenge  at  piquet, 
had  made  the  captain  quite  at  home.  The  latter  paid  his 
complirnents  to  Angie  with  as  much  easy  grace  as  if  noth 
ing  unpleasant  had  occurred  the  previous  evening.  In 
deed,  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  every  circumstance  of 
that  occasion  except  his  own  delight  in  her  society;  and 
the  only  reference  he  made  to  the  interruption  of  that 
enjoyment  was.  when  he  saw  her  give  a  glance  at  the 
guitar.  He  had  taken  the  instrument  from  its  case, 
which  was  slightly  wet  with  the  snow,  and  had  laid  it  on 
a  chair. 

"  You  see  I  am  persevering,  Miss  Angie,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  come  to  finish  my  *ong." 

Angie  blushed,  thanked  him.  and  felt  herself  in  a  little 
ilutter  of  pleasurable  excitement.  The  condescension  of 
the  captain,  and  the  surprise  of  his  vint.  were  such  anti 
dotes  to  the  vexation  and  chagrin  she  had  been  suffering 


TURNING    THE   TABLES.          *  125 

through  the  long,  dull  day  !  They  all  sat  and  chatted 
a  while  by  the  fireside,  or  rather  Captain  Josselyn  and 
Mr.  Cousin  kept  up  an  animated  conversation  ;  the  cap 
tain  proving  equally  entertaining  to  both  his  listeners  — 
pleasing  and  flattering  the  old  gentleman  by  deferring  to 
his  opinions,  and  making  apt  use  of  French  phrases,  and 
paying  court  to  Angie  by  a  tender  devotion  of  manner, 
and  glances  of  most  unequivocal  admiration.  The  latter, 
however,  were  so  confident  and  presuming  that  Angie, 
despite  a  sense  of  elation  at  the  conquest  she  had  achieved, 
looked  first  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left,  and  frequently 
took  shelter  beneath  her  long  eyelashes,  in  the  endeavor 
to  avoid  those  piercing  eyes  which,  as  the  twilight  wrapped 
every  thing  else  in  shadow,  seemed  to  gain  proportion 
ately  in  their  fixedness  and  intensity,  and  as  they  re 
flected  the  fire-glow,  took  a  vivid  topaz  color,  like  crystal 
goblets  of  wine.  Angie  was  an  inexperienced,  not  a 
brazen,  coquette,  and  had  scarcely  mettle  enough  to  resist 
this  military  lover  with  the  intoxicating  eyes.  So,  rest 
less  and  embarrassed,  she  was  glad  when  Mr.  Cousin 
called  for  a  candle,  and  challenged  his  visitor  to  their  game 
of  piquet.  This  also  gave  her  an  opportunity  to  make 
some  housewifely  preparations  for  tea,  which  she  did 
with  native  quickness  and  tact,  moving  about  with  that 
daintiness  with  which  a  girl  moves  when  she  is  suspicious 
that,  a  lover  is  watching  her.  Happy,  wHo  needed  no 
hint  from  her  mistress,  or  rather  who  was  mistress  her 
self  in  her  own  department,  was  already  preparing  to  fry 
some  doughnuts ;  and  any  practised  ear  could  distinguish, 
11* 


Il!t5  n  -l  VLMTM  i>   HI    i 

from    tin-    -itlin-j-room,  the    si//.liii'_r   of   the    lard   over   the 
kitchen    lire. 

Augie  got  out  the  best  tal»le-el<»th  t'nim  a:i  old-fashioned 
press,  but  postponed  -p reading  it  on  the  table  until  11 
should  bring  in  tea,  bceau.-e  there  was  a  \  cry  large  darn 
in  the  worn  damask,  whieh  she  depended  upon  covering 
with  the  tray.  Then  -he  went  to  the  cupboard  and  to-.k 
down  from  an  upper  shelf  her  stock  of  plate  :  a  tew  little 
silver  teaspoons  —  three — how  fortunate  that  there  were 
ju-t  three!  The  gilt-edged  cups  and  -aucers.  too  —  then1 
was  a  sufficient  number  of  them  left  unbroken.  Tin-  'jilt 
was  nearly  rubbed  off,  to  be  sure,  but  then  thev  showed 
what  they  had  once  been,  and  in  their  present  state  they 
matched  all  the  better  with  the  white  crockery  dishes  and 
plate-:  but,  O,  mischief  and  agony!  the  teapot!  the 
broken-nosed  teapot!  and  it  was  their  only  one  —  what 
should  .-he  do? 

JJut  before  she  could  think  further  on  tin-  matter,  she 
heard  a  sound  which  betokened  still  greater  mischief  and 
agony.  It  was  well  she  stood  within  the  closet  door,  out 
of  sight  of  their  visitor,  otherwise  he  might  have  won- 
den-d  at  the  agitation  .-he  manifotcd.  Somebody  had 
lilted  the  kitchen  latch  —  that  wa.-  all.  Ye-,  but  Angle 
could  not  be  mistaken  as  to  who  it  wa-  that  had  lifted  the 
latch  with  just  that  click.  She  listened  breathlessly,  tea 
pot  in  hand';  then  detected  preci.-ely  the  sound  she  had 
expected  to  hear  next  ! — a  footstep,  —  Geordie's.  O, 
how  unlucky  ! 

lint  she  was  a  Lrirl  ol  good  courage, especially  in  emer- 


TURNING  THE  TABLES.  127 

gencies.  By  the  time  she  had  deliberately  set  down  the 
teapot,  and  slowly  withdrawn  her  hand  from  it,  she  had 
resolved  what  to  do.  She  would  confront  him  at  once, 
treat  him  coolly,  and  dismiss  him,  if  she  could,  ignorant 
of  the  captain's  visit.  It  would  never  do  to  let  them 
meet  under  such  circumstances.  She  was  surprised  that 
just  now  George  should  want  to  put  himself  in  her  way  ! 
Inconsistent  girl !  Only  that  morning  she  had  felt  that 
she  would  give  all  the  world  to  see  him  for  five  minutes. 
Perhaps  it  was  some  excuse  for  her  unreasonableness  that 
she  so  dreaded  another  collision  between  the  young  men. 
u  Any  how,"  was  her  conclusion,  as  she  slid  out  of  the 
sitting-room,  u  I  must  get  rid  of  him  to-night,  if -I  have 
to  run  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  make  it  up  with  him 
to-morrow ! " 

Ah,  Angie,  to-morrow !  a  Whereas,  you  know  not 
what  will  be  on  the  morrow." 

GJ-eorge  was  standing  with  his  arms  resting  upon  the 
high  kitchen  mantel-piece,  and  his  head  so  bent  over  on 
his  hands  that  he  seemed  to  be  watching  Happy's  dough 
nuts  in  the  process  of  frying. 

Angie  thought  he  would,  as  usual,  approach  her  humbly, 
with  that  pleading  look  of  his  —  but,  no  ;  he  did  not  even- 
turn  round  when  she  entered  the  kitchen.  So  she  walked 
up,  with  a  hesitating  step,  and  stood  beside  him.  Then 
he  looked  at  her,  but  only  as  if  to  assure  himself  that 
it  was  she,  for  he  did  not  speak,  and  the  next  instant 
he  was  staring  into  the  fire  again. 

Angie  took  a  fork  and  turned  the  doughnuts  one  by 
one.  G-eorge  watched  her  as  she  did  it. 


2  B40J  fX/j   HLA  i;  i  x 

•'    You're    \\et."    -he    -aid   at    length. 

II.-  lo,,ked  down  at  tin-  -team  that  was  evaporatin-j 
from  his  damp  clothe.-,  but  otherwise  took  no  notice  of 
the  remark. 

••  Y«.ur  doughnuts  an-  hiirnin^.  Happy,"  were  the 
next  words  spoken. 

•  they  In-.  Mi.-.-    An.L'ie  !  "   exelaimed   tin-   old   negro 
woman,  who  had  heen  bocy  moulding  doagfa,  with  her  back 

to  tin-  lire  :   and,  pOUOClDg  upon  tlirin.  -he  carried  ilifin  off, 
frying-pan   and   all.  \»  \\u>  pantry,  and  (trust  a   negro's 
shrewdness  lor  that),  took  <-aiv  not  to  come  ba<-k  auain. 
The  clattering  of  Happy's  rolling-pin  and  the  hissing 

of  tin-  hot  fat  thu>  .-uddcidy  Mil»>i«lin«r.  tin-  kitchen  seemed 
fefcrfully  still  to  Angle,  who  \\a>  Lr»-ttiiiLr  nerxous  and  im 
patient. 

A  deep  sigh  from  George  first  broke  the  stillness,  and 
was  at  once  succeeded  by  the  petulant  exclamation, 
k-  AVhat  makes  you  stand  there  so,  Geordie?  You  worry 
me  to  death  '.  " 

At  this  he  removed  hi-  arms  from  the  mantel-piece, 
raised  his  head,"  and  fixed  his  eyes  full  and  steadily  upon 
her.  Such  piv.Mimptioii  in  her  shy  lover  would  ha\.- 
amazed  her.  hut  lor  a  something  in  his  jraxe  whirh  .-!..  . 
standing  a-  .-he  did  then  and  there,  could  not  quite  appro 
priate  to  her-elf.  The  look  did  not  seem  to  he  meant  lor 
her. — at  lea-t  not  for  her  ordinary  -elf.  It  \\a-a-  it', 
pa  — ini:  heyond,  heiiiii'l.  \\ilhiu  her.  it  comprehended  ai; 
the  pa-t.  -iimmed  \\^  a  life's  experiene,-,  an<l  ^aup-d  it,- 
\uhle.  She  felt  thi-  e\  «  !i  ln-|'o|-e  he  spoke,  hilt  the 


TURNING    THE    TABLES,  129 

impression  was  confirmed  when  he  said,  like  a  man 
soliloquizing,  "  I  have  known  you  a  great  many 
years,  Angie.  How  much  I  have  thought  of  you ! 
haven't  I?" 

Before  she  could  answer,  his  eyes  were  turned  away 
from  her,  and  were  wandering  round  the  room.  "  I 
have  had  a  great  many  good  times  in  this  kitchen,"  he 
said,  meditatively,  and  still  as  if  speaking  to  himself. 
Probably  the  old  wooden  settle  by  the  fireside,  the  clock 
ticking  in  one  corner,  the  polished  warming-pan,  which 
was  such  a  capital  thing  for  popping  corn,  the  worn 
turkey-wing,  which  served  for  a  hearth-brush,  the  old  cat 
rubbing  her  head  against  his  leg,  —  all  were  reminis 
cences  of  these  good  times  ;  for  he  looked  from  one  to 
another  with  as  much  earnestness  as  if  he  were  taking 
an  inventory,  and  finally  stooped  down  and  stroked  the 
cat's  back. 

Angie  was  perplexed  by  his  conduct.  He  seemed  so 
independent  of  her  presence  that  she  almost  felt  herself  a 
supernumerary. 

"  Where's  your  father  ?"  he  abruptly  asked,  glancing 
at  the  chair  by  the  window  in  which  Mr.  Cousin  was  in 
the  habit  of  sitting. 

Here  was  trouble.  Angie  stammered  a  little  as  she 
answered,  "He's  —  he's  busy — just  now."  Her  reply 
was  apparently  a  matter  of  indifference  to  the  young 
man,  for  his  only  comment  was,  "  I  saw  his  snuffbox 
there,  —  it  made  me  think  of  him,  —  that's  all.  The 
snuffbox  was  on  the  window-sill.  George  walked  to  Iliu 


130  HAl'A'TJ-.n   m:\KTS. 

window,  and  handling  tin-  Imx  a<  it'  it  were  a  talisraanic 
medium  of  thought,  looked  out  tit  the  ni-lit.  The  storm 
was  gathering,  aiid  the  wind,  as  it  whistled  past,  rattled 
the  window-sash,  and  caused  the  lamp  on  the  table  to 
nicker.  Angle,  standing  by  the  fire,  shivered.  AVhat  i- 
he  looking  at?  AVhat  can  he  be  thinking  of?  Whv 
doesn't  he  speak?  Why  doesn't  he  go?  These  were  the 
mental  queries  that  agitated  her  ;  and  the  only  answer. 
for  a  space  that  seemed  interminable,  was  the  sighing  of 
the  wind. 

At  last,  when  he  turned,  it  was  to  walk  straight  up  to 
her,  lay  his  hand  on  her  head,  and  gently  smooth  her 
hair,  —  a  thing  he  had  not  dared  to  do  before  since  the  days 
when  she  was  first  old  enough  to  put  it  up  with  a  comb. 

This  audacity  —  evidently  unconscious  on  his  part  — 
awed  her.  All  the  nonsense,  all  the  coquetry,  all  the 
false  pride  of  the  girl,  were  subdued  on  the  instant.  She 
submitted  to  the  caress  with  as  much  docility  as  it'  she 
had  been  an  infant. 

He  only  passed  his  hand  over  her  hair  once  or  twice, 
in  much  the  same  dreamy  way  that  he  had  stroked  the 
fur  of  the  cat.  "  Angie,"  he  said,  almost  unintelligibly, 
—  and  she  looked  up,  fearing  he  was  choking,  but  making 
a  great  effort,  he  went  on  with  a  linn  voice,  and  she 
listened  breathlessly,  —  "  Angie,  that  old  man  lied  last 
ni.L'ht.  I  want  you  to  remember  that.  It  may  come 
true,  —  God  knows  !  —  but  it  was  a  lie  then  ;  don't  for- 
p-t  what  J  tell  you,  or  think  any  worse  of  me  than  you 
can  help.  A  man  may  be  driven  on  to  the  rocks  and 


TURNING    THE    TABLES.  131 

shipwrecked,  but  it  ain't  as  if  he  went  of  his  own  accord. 
I  know  I'm  a  poor  dog,  and  have  had  my  day  !  " 

Angie  trembled,  and  made  an  effort  to  interrupt  him, 
but  he  did  not  notice  her,  and  went  on.  It  seemed  as  if 
he  had  braced  himself  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  nothing 
could  stop  him  now. 

"  Turn  a  dog  out  of  doors,  set  every  tormenting  thing 
on  him,  abuse  him  till  he  can't  stand  it,  and  never  call 
him  back  with  a  kind  word,  and  I  tell  you  he'll  go  mad 
and  bite  or  run  away  ;  but  he  was  an  honest  dog  once, 
—  mind  that,  —  and  loved  his  friends,  and  would  have 
died  for  'em.  No  matter  what  becomes  of  him  now  — 
it's  all  over.  There,"  he  added,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"you're  free  to  go  back  to  him,"  —  and  he  pointed  to  the 
door  leading  to  the  little  sitting-room.  "  He's  a  stranger, 
but  I  dare  say  he's  enough  sight  better  fellow  than  I  am. 
I  hope  so,  any  way." 

Touched  and  grieved  by  his  appeal  to  her  sympathies, 
Angie  had  been  ready  to  burst  into  tears,  comfort  him, 
and  entreat  his  forgiveness ;  but  conscience-stricken  at 
his  last  words,  as  well  as  mortified  at  his  knowledge  of 
a  rival's  presence  in  the  next  room,  she  could  only  follow 
the  direction  of  his  eyes  with  a  confused  medley  of  sensa 
tions  and  a  shamefaced  countenance.  Even  in  his  depth 
of  contrition  and  self-abandonment,  he  was  getting  the 
mastery  of  her. 

And  so  it  was  that  she,  the  defiant,  high-spirited 
coquette,  who  had  kept  him  in  fetters  now  fourteen 
years,  offered  no  resistance,  but  stood  still  as  a 


132  HAL'XTLLt    UK  A  I 

while  In- first  dismissed,  and  then, —  ( >.  unthought  of  pre 
sumption  !  —  bent  down  and  kissed  her.  Since  >he  first 
took  womanly  airs,  and  forbade  him  the  liberty,  he  had 
never  presumed  on  such  an  offence.  Even  on  occasion 
of  a  country  romp,  or  a  game  at  forfeits,  he  had  only 
half  takni  advantage  of  his  opportunities,  yet  now  In- 
pressed  his  lips  to  her-  without  apology  and  without 
rebuke. 

I  say  noiv,  —  and  yet  it  did  not  seem  as  if  the  kiss 
had  much  to  do  with  the  now  of  their  lives  ;  it  was 
more  like  a  seal  set  upon  all  the  past  love  and  friend-hip 
there  had  been  between  them.  It  was  a  long  kiss  —  giving 
time  for  his  eyes  to  look  full  into  hers,  and  daguerreotype 
her  image  on  his  heart.  There  was  no  rapture  in  it,  and 
no  pain.  It  asked  for  no  response,  any  more  than  if  she 
were  dead.  It  was  a  benediction  merely,  and  a  fare 
well. 

"  Now  go  !  "  he  said.  The  words  were  addressed  to 
her,  and  were  peremptory.  But  she  never  stirred, 
though  ho  turned,  and  was  gone  out  of  the  house  in  an 
instant. 

She  was  like  one  petrified.  Not  until  the  last  echo 
of  hi-  -tep.  and  of  the  hou.-e  door,  which  he  banned 
after  him,  had  died  away,  did  she  move  from  the  spot 
where  he  had  left  her.  Then  she  ran  to  the  door,  opened 
it  and  looked  out,  but  only  to  retreat  In-fore  a  heavy  gn.-t 
of  wind  which  sent  the  snow  whirling  in  her  lace  and 
seemed  to  mock  her.  As  she  reentered  the  kitchen  she 
stnmbfed  over  the  guitar-case,  which  stood  in  the  corner. 


TURNING    THE    TABLES.  133 

Perhaps  George  had  stumbled  over  it  too  on  his  en 
trance.  At  all  events,  here  was  the  traitor  that  had 
betrayed  the  captain's  visit. 

By  this  time  Happy,  as  prompt  on  a  slight  hint  to  re- 
occupy  as  she  had  been  to  evacuate  her  premises,  had  re 
sumed  her  sway  at  the  kitchen  fire,  and  was  bustling 
about,  to  atone  for  the  interruption  to  her  labors.  "  One 
spark  to  time  's  'bout  enough  for  we  !  "  she  muttered. 
The  doughnuts  had  soaked  fat,  and  old  Hap  Avas 
cross.  On  such  occasions  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  submit  to  her  dictation,  at  least  when,  as  now,  Angie 
had  no  heart  for  coaxing  her  into  good  humor.  So  she 
obeyed  the  old  negress'  directions  like  an  automaton,  and 
helped  her  u  hurry  up  tea."  But  the  elasticity  was  all 
gone  out  of  Augie.  She  was  no  longer  the  blithe  little 
coquette,  the  conscious  beauty,  the  dainty  housewife. 
So  far  from  finding  it  hard  to  avoid  the  captain's  eye, 
she  did  not  even  know  whether  he  looked  at  her.  With 
her  own  hands  she  spread  the  table-cloth  so  as  to  bring 
the  great  darn  directly  in  front  of  their  visitor's  plate, 
she  gave  him  the  horn  spoon  out  of  the  sugar-bowl,  and 
brandished  her  broken-nosed  teapot  with  a  vacant  air. 

The  tea  hour  seemed  interminable.  The  songs  after 
wards  had  no  music  for  her,  and  she  forgot  to  thank  the 
singer.  Her  father  accused  her  of  being  "  ver'  tired 
after  de  ball,"  and  Captain  Josselyn  must  have  found 
her  society  less  inspiring  than  usual,  for  he  yawned 
more  than  once. 

Mr.  Cousin  had  already  been  allowed  to  avenge  his 
12 


134  HA  i   N  n  •>  n  .'  .1 1:  r  s. 

ill  luck  at  piquet,  and  as  tin-  parties  had  played  inno 
centlv  (that  is,  without  tin-  excitement  of  Lraml>linpr,  lor 
the  old  Frenchman  had  declined  playing  for  money), 
neither  carol  to  rc.-ume  tin-  puiu-. 

Fortunately,,  Stein's  stable-hoy  came  early  for  tlio 
piitar.  and  the  fact  that  the  M«»nn  was  incrcasini:  fur 
nished  an  excuse  for  the  captain,  at  the  same  time,  to 
bid  them  a  hasty  pood  uiirht.  and  avail  himself  of  the 
boy's  guidance  back  to  the  tavern,  which  was  the  more 
desirable,  as  the  lad,  who  himself  resembled  a  moving 
snowdrift,  declared  that  the  road  was  already  covered 
with  several  inches  depth  of  snow. 


SHRIFT  AND   ABSOLUTION.  135 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SHRIFT    AND    ABSOLUTION. 

MARGERY  RAWLE  stood  leaning  over  the  back  of 
a  chair  at  her  kitchen  window,  and  gazed  anxiously, 
through  her  spectacles,  down  the  road.  "  0,  there  he 
comes  !  "  she  said  to  herself  at  last,  and  drew  a  sigh 
of  relief,  this  sigh  of  relief  being  as  near  to  an  indi 
cation  of  joy  as  poor  Margery  ever  attained,  and  the  best 
approach  to  a  welcome  which  George  could  consequently 
anticipate.  Her  reception  of  him  not  being  of  so  cheer 
ful  a  nature  as  to  call  for  much  response,  it  was  not 
strange  that  the  "  dearie  me  ! "  with  which  she  met  him, 
and  a  disparaging  remark  about  the  weather,  as  she 
watched  him  beat  the  snow  off  his  feet,  were  only  re 
plied  to  on  George's  part  by  the  words,  "  Yes,  a  great 
storm  ; "  and  that  then  the  mother  subsided  into  a  knit 
ting-machine,  and  the  son  sat  down  in  silence  by  the  fire. 

George  loved  his  mother  better  than  any  one  in  the 
world  except  Angie  ;  and  he  was  the  sun  and  centre  of 
her  life's  orbit ;  but  there  was  very  little  demonstration 
of  affection  between  them.  He  always  treated  her  with 


i;3t5  HA  i   N  /  L  i>  UEA  XT  a. 

t,  and  when  about  home,  performed  for  her  all 
those  offices  which  demanded  strength  or  involved  ex 
posure;  and  she  spent  tin-  greater  part  of  IKT  time  and 
thoughts  in  motherly  cares  for  his  comfort;  but  a-  to 
any  moiv  -eiitimental  indication  of  their  relationship  it 
w;i-  unthiuight  of,  and  unmissed  mi  either  side. 

Nor.  on  the  other  hand,  were  they  guilty  of  mutual  re 
proaches  and  recriminations.  Margery  viewed  George's 
long  absences  from  home,  his  neglect  of  the  farm,  and 
his  general  want  of  prosperity,  as  so  many  features  of 
that  ill  luck  which  had  attended  her  from  childhood,  and 
forbearing  anv  thing  like  accusation  or  censure,  she 
sulVcivd  all  her  regrets  and  all  her  fears  to  take  the  form 
of  gentle  meanings,  self-pitying  ejaculations,  and  sup 
pressed  groans,  compared  to  which  her  sigh  of  relief 
was  positively  cheerful  and  exhilarating. 

George  was  so  uccnMomed  to  this  chronic  depression 
of  spirits,  which  had  charaeteri/ed  his  mother  ever  since 
his  earliest  recollection,  that  he  never  dreamed  of  ex 
postulating  against  it,  or  inquiring  into  its  cause.  Its 
hopelessness  served,  no  doubt,  to  rob  him  of  that  impe 
tus  to  exertion  which  hi.-  home  mi-lit  otherwise  have 
afforded.  Still  it  would  little  have  become  him  to  com 
plain  of  any  symptoms  of  a  distress  which  he  was  doing 
nothing  to  alle\  iate. 

So,  deep  and    HDfeen  M  wa>  th.-ir    lo\  e  tor  each  other. 
there  was  a  certain  want  of  sympathy  and  confide!  • 
tween  them  which  gave   an  air  of  restraint  to  their  most 
familiar  intercourse. 


SHRIFT   ASH    ABSOLUT  ION.  137 

He  sat  and  watched  her  fingers  awhile  as  they  plied 
the  knitting-needles,  now  and  then  stealing  glances  at 
her  face  ;  but  finding  that  he  was  continually  catching 
her  eye,  as  it  turned  anxiously  upon  him,  he  rose  hastily 
and  went  out. 

He  soon  returned,  bringing  with  him  an  armful  of 
wood,  and  continued  to  go  and  come  until  he  had  filled 
the  kitchen  wood-box  and  built  up  a  little  wood-pile  in 
the  adjoining  pantry.  His  mother  had  risen  at  the  same 
time  to  prepare  tea,  and  thus  they  passed  and  repassed 
each  other,  both  active  in  the  fulfilment  of  household 
tasks.  Then  came  a  lull  in-doors.  Margery  stood  watch 
ing  the  teakettle,  which  refused  to  boil ;  George  was  ply 
ing  his  hatchet  in  the  shed  outside.  At  last,  when  every 
thing  was  ready  for  supper,  and  George  still  kept  at 
work,  the  old  woman  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  shed  door 
and  call  him.  "  Come,  George,"  she  said,  "  the  toast 
is  coolin',  and  I've  put  the  tea  to  steep.  Come  !  have  a 
dish  o' tea, —  it's  so  restin'." 

George  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  stood 
leaning  on  his  hatchet. 

"Tea  ready,  mother?" 

"  Yes  !  and  there's  no  need  to  be  choppin'  any  more 
wood.  I'm  purty  well  on't  for  kindlins." 

"  Better  to  have  enough,"  murmured  George,  as  he 
came  in,  hung  his  cap  on  a  nail,  and  sat  down  at  the 
"  table. 

It  was  a  brief  meal.  George  had  no  appetite,  and 
Margery's  emaciated  frame  never  seemed  to  require 


1  ;is  n  1  1   \  i  /  i>  //y    IMT3. 


limn-  nouri-hmciit  than  a  bird'-.  GfaOTgB  Lrnlped  down 
hi-  tea,  and  iv.-mninir  liis  rap.  went  out  ujrain.  Mar 
gery  did  not  mi.-s  liiin  until  she  had  put  every  thing 
to  ri'jhls  in  her  department.  Thru  tin-  Hashing  of  his 
lantern  ont-ide  tin-  window  attracted  her  notice. 

"Law's  sakes  !  "  she  ejaculatrd.  "it1  that  'ere  boy 
ain't  a  -hovellin'  out  paths  this  tinu-  «>'  uijiht.  and 
Tore  the  Monn's  half  over.  Why,  what  posseMM  you, 
George?  H  >he  cried,  opening  the  house  door  just  enough 
to  thrust  her  head  out,  and  speaking  in  a  .-hrill.  "racked 
tone,  "the  snow  '11  all  In-  driven  in  agin  'fore  mornin*. 
What's  the  use?" 

"  I've  only  been  clearing  a  great  heap  away  from  the 
door,"  answered  George,  u  and  opening  a  tAck  out  to 
the  road.  I  shall  be  through  in  a  few  minutes.  Don't 
stand  there,  mother,  you'll  catch  cold." 

The  widow  retreated  ir«>m  tin-  door-way,  but  hovered 
round  the  window  until  her  son  came  in,  heated  and  wet. 
when  she  renewed  her  remonstrances. 

"  It  '11  drift  in  some  more,  I  dare  say,"  replied  the 
yciuiiLr  man.  '-hut  what  I've  done  to-ni^ht  '11  make 
an  easier  job  for  somebody  in  the  morning.  I  don't 
like  the  idea  of  the  house's  getting  banked  ii]>." 

lie  now  .-at  down  quietly  for  a  while  l>y  the  fireside, 
Imt  either  he  was  uncommonly  restless  or  oppressed  with 
nervous  apprehension-,  for  he  soon  started  up  abruptly, 
and  saying.  u  It  '11  lie  had  Lrettin<_r  to  the  well  in  the 
morning.  I  think  I'll  draw  a  few  buckets  of  water  t<.- 
nijiht,"  he  once  more  sallied  out  for  the  fulfilment  of 


SHRIFT  AND    ABSOLUTION.  139 

this  task.  And  even  when  this,  and  one  or  two  similar 
employments  were  exhausted,  he  could  not  settle  into  his 
wonted  composure.  Three  several  times  he  ascended  to 
his  little  bed-room  above  stairs,  and  was  absent  some 
minutes  —  these  excursions  being  rendered  more  observ 
able  from  the  necessity  he  was  under  of  each  time  light 
ing  a  lamp ;  a  process  which,  in  this  comparatively 
primitive  age,  involved  the  selection  of  a  red-hot  coal,  the 
elevation  of  it  between  the  tongs,  and  the  application  of  a 
puff  of  breath  at  the  same  instant  that  it  was  brought 
into  collision  with  the  lamp-wick. 

"  Seems  to  me  you've  got  great  works  goin'  on  over 
head,"  said  Margery,  peering  at  him  over  her  spectacles 
as  he  blew  his  lamp  out  for  the  third  time,  and  set  it  on 
the  mantel-piece. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  took  a  seat  astride  a  chair,  his 
face  towards  the  back  of  it,  his  chin  just  resting  on  the 
upper  bar.  It  was  now  nearly  the  widow's  bed  time, 
and  George  followed  her  with  his  eye  while  she  raked 
up  the  coals,  closed  the  window  shutters,  put  the  dust- 
brush  and  house-broom,  which  had  been  used  about  the 
hearth,  into  the  oven  as  a  precaution  against  their  setting 
any  thing  on  fire,  and  made  other  little  preparations  for 
retiring  to  her  bed-room,  which  adjoined  the  kitchen. 

"  Mother !  "  said  he,  at  length,  as  he  saw  that  she 
was  really  going. 

She  stopped  short  and  looked  at  him. 

"Mother  — I  — I " 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  George?  "  said  she  anxious- 


140  HA  r.v  y A •  i>  n  HA  i:  i  - 

ly,  tor  there  wa-  an  unnatural  hesitancy  to  his  \oi<v 
which  alarmed  her.  "  Don't  you  feel  well?  What'.-  the 
matter?" 

44  O,  yes,  I'm  all  right;  but  I  —  I  was  thinking  — 
mother,  I've  never  heen  much  comfort  to  you.  have  I?" 

44  All  I've  had  since  your  father  died.  But  it's  a  poor 
world —  tlu-iv  ain't  much  comfort  in  it.  after  all."  and 
th«-  widow  ended  with  an  44  O  dear!"  and  her  accus 
tomed  siirli. 

44  Perhaps  I  might  have  been  more  to  you,  mother," 
said  George,  meditatively.  "  I  suppose  I  might ;  but  as 
it  i-,  I  doubt  whether  you  wouldn't  have  been  better  off 
if  I'd  never  been  born.  I've  been  more  plague  than 
profit." 

u  Mothers  don't  reckon  that  way,  George,  nor  it  ain't 
like  you  neither  to  be  so  down  at  the  heel.  I'm  afraid 
you've  caught  cold.  Hadn't  I  better  bile  the  kettle,  and 
make  you  ><>me  iringer  tea?" 

44  O,  no,"  replied  George,  with  a  forced  laugh  at  the 
suggestion;  ••  I'm  well  enough.  It's  bed  time,  is  it?" 
He  rose  to  once  more  light  his  lamp,  and  as  the  fire  was 
raked  up,  he  applied  the  wick  to  that  of  the  lighted 
candle  which  his  mother  held,  but  his  usually  steady 
hand  shook  ><>  that  his  rtl'orts  were  unsuccessful. 

••  \Vliy.  <  remarked  his  mother,  "you've  got 

an  airur  lit  on  you.  You're  as  bad  as  the  dominie's  wile 
when  >he  tii-  t  had  the  >hakin'  palsy.  I  do  belie\e 
you're  goin'  to  be  took  sick,  this  awful  night,  too  — 
dearie  me  !"  and  she  groaned  outright. 


SHRIFT  AND   ABSOLUTION.  141 

Again  George  had  recourse  to  the  mock  laugh,  at  the 
same  time  supporting  both  lamps  on  the  table,  and  with 
his  back  turned  to  his  mother,  making  another  and  more 
successful  experiment  with  them. 

"  Don't  you  be  worried  mother,"  said  he.  "  Don't 
you  worry  about  me  ever,  let  what  will  come  —  promise 
me  that." 

He  spoke  the  last  words  so  earnestly  that,  although 
his  face  was  turned  from  her,  she  scanned  his  figure 
inquiringly  as  she  answered,  — 

"  Law,  George,  its  no  .use  makin'  such  promises  as 
that.  It's  in  the  natur'  o'  mothers  to  be  always  a 
worryin'  about  their  chiPen." 

"  Then  they're  better  off  without  'em,"  said  George, 
"  just  as  I  said.  If  I  was  out  of  the  way  now,  and  you 
could  only  forget  you  ever  had  a  son,  why,  it  would  be 
the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  you,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  O,  if  we  were  all  dead  and  gone,  there'd  be  an  end 
to  our  troubles,"  said  Margery,  despairingly.  "  I  some 
times  wish  we  were,  for  my  part." 

"  It  seems  as  if  things  couldn't  be  much  worse  than 
they  are,"  was  George's  comment  on  this  wholesale  out 
burst.  "  That's  the  only  comfort  I  have  in  looking 
ahead.  But,  some  how,  I  —  I  — "  and  here  George 
stammered  badly. 

"You  what,  George?" 

"Why,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like,  before  I  go  any 
further,  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  past,  Mother,"  — 
and  the  quivering  of  his  voice  was  even  more  perceptible 


142  HAUXTKl>     111,  A  I:  I  ^ 

than  the  shaking  «»t'  his  hand  had  U-en  a  moment  before, 
—  *k  I've  been  a  poor,  good-for-nothing  fellow,  and  every 
1  in, ly's  turned  against  hie.  I've  treated  you  worse  than 
the  rest  because  you  had  more  claim  on  me  ;  but  you  — 
you've  always  been  a  —  a  —  mother' to  me." 

44  Of  eonr-e  I  have.  <.e<>nlie."  said  she;  u  other  folks 
may  be  what  they  please,  but  mothers  are  mothers  to 
their  dyin'  day." 

••  I  know."  responded  George,  his  word-  half  choking 
him  :  M  and  that's  why,  when  I  don't  care  for  the  rest,  I 
do  care  for  you.  Let  them  .say  what  they  will — and 
I'll  warrant  it  '11  be  the  worst.  You  won't  say  much, 
hut  you'll  think  all  the  more,  and  I  want  you  to  think 
the  best  you  can,  and  hope  the  best  you  can,  in  spite  of 
any  body." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  George,"  said  she ;  "  haven't  I 
always?" 

"  Yes ;  but  let  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  you 
must  believe  that  I  stood  it  as  long  as  I  could,  and 
fought  e\vn  after  they  had  me  down." 

There  was  an-vr  in  his  voice  and  fire  in  his  eye  as 
h«-  lini-in-d  speaking. 

••  Who  had  yon  down?"  rried  Margery,  in  a  fresh 
alarm;  "why,  George,  have  you  been  lightin'?" 

"  No,  O,  no,"  he  replied,  recollecting  himself,  and  in- 

vgtantly  modrratinu  hi-  loin-.      ••  I  didn't    mean  any  thing. 

I  was    only  thinking  how  I'd   stru.-.'iiled    a-_raiu-t    all  sorts 

ol    iujurir.-.  and  didn't  know  as  I  should  hold  out  foiv\«-r. 

Folks  have    been   too   hard   on    me.  mother.      M  v  nnele 


SHRIFT  AND    ABSOLUTION.  143 

Baultie  is  my  greatest  enemy.  It's  he  that  has  pushed 
me  on  to  destruction.  That  old  man  and  I  have  got  to 
come  to  a  reckoning  yet.  I  don't  know  how  it  '11  go 
between  us  ;  but  he'll  have  the  worst  of  it  if  he  gets  his 
dues,"- — and,  anger  once  more  gaining  the  mastery  of 
George,  he  set  his  teeth  tight,  and  his  usually  mild 
eyes  glittered  with  excitement. 

Margery  was  frightened.  "  O  George,"  she  cried,  in 
a  deprecatory  tone,  "  don't  you  fly  in  the  face  of  your 
uncle  Baultie  !  He's  a  hard  man  —  hard  as  a  flint.  If 
you  run  against  his  sharp  corners  it  '11  be  you  that  '11  get 
the  worst  on't.  Take  my  advice,  George,  and  be  careful 
for  the  future,  when  you're  riled,  not  to  put  yourself  in 
his  way." 

It  was  difficult  to  judge  what  effect  this  expostulation 
had  upon  George.  He  seemed  resolved  to  subdue,  or  at 
least  hide  his  passion  ;  but  as  the  expression  of  wrath 
subsided  on  his  face  it  was  succeeded  by  one  of  stern 
determination,  which  steeled  his  features  when  he  next 
spoke,  though  his  tone  was  sad  rather  than  vindictive. 

"  We  won't  say  any  thing  about  the  future,"  was  his 
answer  ;  "  that's  all  a  big  secret  —  the  future  is,  mother. 
It's  only  about  the  past  I  have  one  word  more  to  add. 
I've  been  a  poor  sort  of  a  son,  that 's  a  fact,  and  there's  no 
denying  it.  I  have  never  done  any  thing  for  your  comfort 
or  happiness  ;  but — but,"  and  here  his  features  softened, 
and  he  looked  tenderly  at  her,  "  I've  always  loved  you." 

The  poor  widow  only  stared. 

kt  You  believe  it,  don't  you?"  with  a  pleading  smile  — 
tois  boyish  smile,  which  he  had  never  lost. 


Ml  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

-  I  do,  George. 

And  I  always  .s/m//  love  you.  Good  night!"  and  he 
Carted  f,.r  the  door,  then  stopped,  turned,  and  came  back 
to  where  Mai.'  iy  -io.nl,  stupefied  and  puzzled.  He 
•  •aim-  close  to  lirr.  and  Mudied  her  i'niv  lovingly,  but  did 
not  kiss,  caress,  or  even  touch  licr.  It  would  have  been 
too  foreign  to  their  natures  and  the  habits  in  which  ho 
had  been  nurtured.  lit-  merely  took  hold  of  her  apron 
string  and  wound  it  round  his  lingers,  as  a  child  would 
do.  "  I  dont  care  a  bit  for  any  harm  I've  done  or  mean 
to  do  to  any  body  else,"  said  he  ;  "  but  if  ever  I've  been 
a  trial  to  you  (and  I  know  I  have  often  enough),  I  —  I'm 
sorry." 

u  Law,  George,"  said  his  mother,  u  what  matter  is  it? 
Folks  don't  harbor  any  thing  against  their  own  flesh  and 
blood.  You're  dreadful  down-hearted  to-night ;  go  to 
bed." 

"  So  I  will ; "  and  he  went  as  far  as  the  door, 
opened  it.  then  stood  a  moment  outside,  with  the  latch 
handle  in  his  hand.  "  It's  all  right  between  you  and  me, 
mother,  ain't  it?"  said  he,  looking  back  as  if  eager  for 
one  more  assurance. 

"Yes,  all  right,"  was  the  answer,  — u  that  is,  if 
you've  got  l>ed-e!othes  enough.  It's  a  cold  night,  and 
you're  agurish,  you  know." 

"  Plenty, "  was  the  response,  —  "  and  —  well  —  no 
matter,  —  I  gm—  it'i  all  ri^ht  ;  "  and  he  slowly  closed 
the  door  after  him. 

"  What's  got  into  the  boy  ?  "  soliloquized  Margery,  as 


SHRIFT  AND   ABSOLUTION.  145 

she  set  back  the  chairs  and  completed  her  preparations 
for  the  night ;  "  I  never  see  him  so  afore.  O  dear  !  It's 
the  tavern  mebbe,  or  bad  company,  or  Angie  Cousin, 
perhaps.  O  Lud  !  I  wish  he'd  let  her  alone  !  Any  ways 
he's  awfully  down  in  the  mouth,  and  I  shan't  sleep  a  wink 
to-night," 

But  Margery  had  learned  to  sleep  in  spite  of  trouble. 
She  fretted  a  while,  groaned  aloud,  tried  in  vain  to 
say  her  prayers,  but  fell  asleep  at  last,  in  spite  of  the 
storm  raging  wildly  without,  and  of  anxiety  and  grief 

within." 

13 


146  HAUXTED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    X. 

A    CRIME    AND    A    HI  1     <>!      PROOF. 

WHAT  is  that?  and  Margery  started  up  in  her  bed, 
and  looked  wildly  around.  The  wind?  No.  A  win 
dow  shutter  banging  ?  Something  worse  !  —  and  Mar 
gery  sprung  out  of  bed. 

"Who's  there?"  cried  the  old  woman  "Speak  !  who's 
there?" 

"  Me,  it's  me  !  —  it's  Hannah,  —  Hannah  Rawle.  Open 
the  door,  Margery  !  let  me  in  !  "  was  shrieked  from  with 
out,  while  tin-  rattling  <»f  the  latch  and  the  creaking  of 
the  door  gave  emphasis  to  the  cry. 

Marirery's  tivmMiiiLr  hands  tumbled  at  tin-  ln»lt,  hut 
th»«  moment  the  wooden  bar  was  withdrawn  the  door, 
which  opened  inwards,  yielded  t<>  some  hea\y  pressure, 
and  a  tall  figure,  all  in  white,  apparently  the  very  genius 
of  the  storm,  was  precipitated  full  length  upon  the  kitchen 
floor. 

The  cry  of  "  Margery !  Margery!"  now  ^ave  place 
t«>  that  of  "George!  George!"  whom  the  mother, 
screaming  at  the  foot  of  the  >tair>.  thus  summoned 


A    CHIME   AND   A    BIT   OF  PROOF.  147 

to  the  scene.  But  there  was  no  answer.  Margery, 
frightened  and  bewildered,  nevertheless  closed  and 
latched  the  outer  door,  bent  an  instant  over  the  pros 
trate  figure  on  the  hearth,  and  finding  it  still  motionless, 
commenced  groping  her  way  to  her  son's  attic,  calling 
out  his  name  at  every  step. 

Day  was  just  dawning  in  the  eastern  horizon,  but  the 
house  was  still  dark  as  night.  "  George  !  wake  up,  for 
mercy's  sake  ! "  shouted  the  poor  woman  close  to  his 
bed.  Horrified  at  getting  no  reply,  she  passed  her 
hands  wildly  over  the  counterpane,  which  was  smooth 
as  woman's  skill  could  make  it,  and  over  the  pillow, 
which  no  head  had  pressed  that  night. 

"Good  Lud !  Avhat  does  this  mean?  Good  Lud ! 
good  Lud  !  "  ejaculated  the  trembling  old  woman,  as  she 
tottered  down  the  staircase. 

A  heavy  groan  was  escaping  from  Hannah  Rawle  as 
Margery  reentered  the  kitchen.  A  moment  more,  and 
she  had  partially  revived,  had  drawn  up  her  limbs,  and 
assuming  a  sitting  posture,  was  rocking  herself  to  and 
fro,  making  a  wailing  noise,  but  as  yet  uttering  nothing 
intelligible.  The  fact,  however,  that  she  had  fled  through 
the  storm  in  her  night  clothes,  and  was  half  dead  with 
cold  and  exhaustion,  was  intelligible  enough  and  awful 
enough  to  make  further  explanation  for  the  moment 
superfluous.  Margery,  scarcely  less  horrified  and  para 
lyzed,  had  still  sufficient  strength  to  wrap  a  blanket 
around  Hannah,  and  then  kneeling  in  the  ashes  to  unrake 
the  fire.  There  was  just  life  enough  left  in  the  coals 


IIS  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

to   diffuse  a  little  glimmer  of  light.     Margery,  herself 

shivering  with  cold  and  dread,  and  watching  the  pitiable 
object  beside  whom  sin-  crouched,  could  see  the  working 
of  Hannah  Rawle's  face,  but  could  not  comprehend  its 
expression,  uor  the  wild  and  vehement  gestures  which 
she  made  with  one  hand  while  she  held  the  other  .-till' 
and  clinched. 

44  O,  speak  !  speak,  Hannah  !  Can't  yon  speak?  "  cried 
Marirery,  imploringly,  raising  her  voice  to  its  utmost 
pitch,  and  gesticulating  in  her  turn,  —  for  Hannah  was 
partially  deaf. 

Hannah  almost  rose  to  her  feet  in  the  effort  she  now 
made  to  loosen  her  rigid  lips  ;  then  failing  in  the  attempt 
to  speak,  she  gave  vent  to  u  fearful  shriek,  and  fell 
heavily  to  the  floor. 

Margery  now  bethought  herself  of  her  cupboard,  and 
a  little  demijohn  of  West  India  rum  which  she  kept 
there,  and  >he  lost  no  time  in  pouring  some  of  the  spirit 
into  a  glass,  and  putting  it  to  Hannah's  lips.  The  first 
effort  to  swallow  was  abortive.  but  after  a  second  and 
third  attempt,  the  moistened  jaws  relaxed;  then  the 
scorching  liquid  found  its  way  down  her  throat,  and  it- 
effects  were  soon  discernible,  for  Hannah,  as  if  deli\« -n •<! 
from  an  iron  spell,  ga-ped  out  eagerly,  "Where's 
(i.-ordic?  O,  my  old  man!  whore's  Geordie?  Call 
him  ;  call  him  quick  !  " 

"  George  is  away;  George  isn't  at  home,"  said  Mar- 
•j'Ty.  placing  her  mouth  close  to  Hannah's  ear,  and 
.!Jn.Lr  with  effort. 


A    CRIME   AND    A    BIT    OS   PROOF.  149 

"  O,  call  him  !  call  him  !  perhaps  he  is  ;  send  him  to 
my  old  man,"  persisted  Hannah. 

Relieved,  even  in  this  first  tumult  of  terror,  to  know 
that  her  own  recent  ignorance  of  George's  absence,  and 
her  vain  calls  for  his  aid  had  been  unheeded  by  Hannah,  as 
she  lay  stretched  in  unconsciousness,  Margery  assured 
her  that  George  was  not  sleeping  at  home  that  night, 
and  entreated  to  know  what  had  happened  to  Baultie. 
Was  he  sick,  was  he  dying,  or  what  was  the  matter  on 
the  mountain  ? 

"Dying?  He's  dead !  fur's  I  know,"  shrieked  Han 
nah,  her  eyes  glaring  wildly,  and  her  fist  brandished  in  the 
air.  "  They've  killed  him  !  they've  killed  him  !  they've 
beaten  his  brains  out !  " 

"Killed  him!  They?  Who?"  ejaculated  Margery, 
looking  round  the  room  in  a  vague  horror,  as  if  she  heard 
murder  stalking  about  the  house  and  saw  death  in 
the  air. 

"  The  robbers  !  the  murderers  !  the  villains  !  Send 
help  —  send  help,  Margery — send  help  to  my  old  man  !  " 

"  O,  who  shall  I  send?"  exclaimed  Margery,  wringing 
her  hands.  "  George  ought  to  be  here,"  she  added,  in 
an  outburst  of  agony,  — "  but  he  isn't.  O  dear !  O 
dear ! " 

"  I  must  go  myself,"  said  Hannah,  with  desperation  ; 
and  folding  the  blanket  about  her,  the  resolute  old  woman 
sprang  to  her  feet,  but  they  failed  her,  and  she  fell. 
They  were  helpless, — -they  were  frozen.  She  groaned 
aloud  in  her  despair,  but  she  was  a  woman  of  a  dauntless 
13* 


l.'il)  11    I  /A   PJ  /      HI  .(  i;  1  9. 

spirit.        Sin-    had    not    made    her    way   thus   far   tli 

and  snowdrift-  for  nothini:.  Ma-  had  Mink  at 
Margery's  threshold,  in  the  belief  tliat  her  night's  work 
was  done:  hut  with  tin-  fiv.-h  necessity  for  action  her 
energy  revived. 

"  Dress  yourself,  Marirery,"  she  said  with  authority. 

It  me  alone," — for  Margery  was  crooning  over  the 
fro/en  feet,  and  chafing  them  with  her  withered  hand-. 
'•  I  Jut  on  your  clothes  as  quick  as  you  can,  and  raise 
tin-  neighbors.  You  can  irct  acro-s  the  fields  to  Mr. 
( 'on-in'-  ;  you'll  have  hard  work,  but  you  can  do  it. 
At  any  rate,  you  must  try.  I  can  take  care  of  my 
self,  —  so,  go  !  —  go  !  " 

And  Margery  went.  How  she  got  dressed,  how  she 
waded  through  tin-  .-now.  called  up  the  family,  gave 
the  alarm,  and  got  back  to  the  shelter  of  her  own  roof? 
no  one  who  knew  her  could  comprehend.  Hut  there  is  a 
sui-plus  power  in  every  body,  waiting  to  be  called  out  on 
emergencies,  and  the  feeble  old  woman,  who,  never  in 
winter  time,  was  wont  to  crawl  beyond  her  own  wood 
shed,  accomplished  almost  without  conscious •  effort ,  tin- 
labor  from  which.  <m  such  a  night,  a  strong  man  would 
have  shrunk.  She  did  not  return  alone  to  her  cottage. 
Angie  accompanied  her.  They  spoke  only  once  on  the 
uay.  and  then  it  was  to  a-k  each  other,  with  intense 
.  the  saini  i|uc>tion  which  had  been  the  first 
on  Hannah  Kawlc's  lip-.  —  ••'Where  i>  ( ieonlie  ''.  "  The 
•  jiie-iimi  was  simultaneous.  So  was  the  reply.  It  con- 
si-ted  merely  of  a  piteous  shake  of  the  head,  alter  which. 


A    CRIME    AND    A    BIT    OF    PfiOOF.  151 

with  jaws  chattering  aiid  brains  bewildered,  the  two 
women  fought  their  way  in  silence  through  the  snow  and 
wind  back  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  half-frozen  fugitive 
from  midnight  murder  still  sat  crouching  in  her  blanket, 
muttering  her  lamentations,  and  gesticulating  with  her 
upraised  hand. 

To  kindle  a  fire,  bathe,  cjtiafe,  and  as  far  as  possible, 
restore  Hannah  Rawle's  frozen  limbs,  were  the  next 
tasks  to  which  Margery  and  Angie  applied  themselves. 
Not  until  the  fire  sent  forth  its  ruddy  blaze,  and  a  lamp 
was  lit,  did  the  night  wanderer's  real  condition  reveal 
itself.  Her  flesh  was  not  only  stiffened  with  frost,  but 
was  scratched,  bleeding,  and  torn.  Her  night  clothes, 
of  homespun  flannel,  were  tattered  and  blood-stained, 
and  her  white  hair  was  tangled  about  her  face  and  head. 
All  this  might  have  been  the  natural  result  of  her  night 
journey  down  the  mountain,  where  her  path  led  through 
swamp,  and  thicket,  and  where  briers,  and  underwood, 
half  hidden  by  snow,  had  to  be  encountered  at  every  step. 
But  this  was  not  all.  A  more  fearful  spectacle  was 
revealed,  and  a  more  awful  tragedy  testified  to,  by  the 
wounds  on  her  hands  and  wrists,  the  dislocation  of  one 
of  her  finger  joints,  and  a  contusion  on  her  face,  proving 
the  fact  which  the  courageous  old  woman  herself  averred, 
that  in  the  struggle  which  had  taken  place  between  her 
and  the  assassin  she  had  fought  like  a  wild-cat. 

"  Was  there  more  than  one  ? "  asked  Angie,  who, 
kneeling  on  the  floor  beside  Hannah,  was  fastening 
a  bandage  round  one  of  her  bleeding  ankles. 


[;>-2  it. i  r.\  ;  i.  i>   HI.  i  /ITU. 

Hannah  did  not  hear!  w  How  many  were  there?  how 
many  men?"  reiterated  Anirie.  jmttini:  her  question  in 
a  new  form,  and  .-peaking  louder,  though  in  a  much 
less  steady  voice  than  at  tir-t.  while  Margery,  who 
wa>  Min-ini:  tin-  tin-,  held  the  t«  MIL'S  with  a  trembling 
hand,  and  listened  for  Hannah's  reply. 

"  How  many  r  how  should  I  know?  'Twas  dark  as 
pitch.  There  might  ha'  In  en  two  or  three,  or  like 
enough  half  a  dozen  on  Vm.  'Twas  my  old  man's 
screams  an'  the  shakin'  <»'  the  mom  that  fust  'woke 
me.  They  had  Banltie  down  by  that  time,  and  were 
stn idling  to  hold  him.  I  sprang  on  one  of  'em,  and 
tried  to  drag  him  off.  I  twisted  him  round  and  round, 
and  held  on  with  the  grip  of  an  old  watch-dog  ;  I  would 
never  ha'  let  go  on  him  so  long  as  the  breath  was  in 
me,  but  he  was  young  and  strong,  and  he  shook  me  off. 
'Twas  then,  I  think,  when  they  found  they'd  more  'n 
one  to  deal  with,  that  they  give  my  poor  old  man  a 
death— trokr.  for  he'd  screamed  and  called  my  name  afore  ; 
but  I  never  caught  a  sound  from  the  corner  where 
he  lay  arterward-."  She  seemed  to  be.  sustained  by 
excitement  while  she  dwelt  on  the  particulars  of  her 
own  struL"_rle  with  the  Imusehrcakcrs,  but  the  few  la-t 
words,  jillirminu  her  conviction  of  her  husband's  mur 
der,  were  uttered  with  a  shrill,  piteous  accent  which 
ended  in  a  loud  wail. 

Margery  >ank  into  a  chair  with  an  exclamation  of 
hormr.  Anirie  was  >ilent ;  she  still  knelt  l.e-ide  Han 
nah,  hut  the  poor  girl's  hands  refused  their  office  ;  she 


A    CRIME   AND    A    BIT    OF   PROOF.  153 

almost  shrank  from  the  cold  limb  to  which  she  had 
been  ministering ;  the  whole  person  of  the  woman  who 
had  so  lately  fought  hand  to  hand  with  death,  seemed 
invested  with  something  forbidding  and  awful.  For  a 
moment  Angie  did  not  venture  to  touch  her,  or  inter 
rupt  her  prolonged  cry. 

She  soon  interrupted  herself,  however,  with  the  ab 
rupt  questions,  "Have  they  started?  Have  they  gone? 
Have  you  sent  help  to  my  old  man  ? "  Angie  repeated 
an  assurance  already  given,  that  her  father  and  the 
stable-boy  were  on  the  alert ;  that  they  were  harnessing 
a  horse  when  she  left  the  house ;  that  before  this  time 
all  the  neighborhood  was  roused,  and  every  possible 
effort  being  made  in  Baultie  Rawle's  behalf. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  Hannah,  relapsing  into  her 
hopeless  tone.  "  Let  'em  go ;  but  they'll  find  him 
dead.  Ah,  well,  —  we  can't  die  but  once,  and  me  an' 
my  old  man  's  seen  length  o'  days  already.  But  they 
might  ha'  let  us  go  in  peace,  and  not  drag  folks  out 
o'  their  beds  to  murder  'em." 

This  first  utterance  of  human  complaint  brought 
Hannah  more  into  sympathy  with  the  weakness  of  her 
auditors,  and  gave  them  the  nerve  required  to  exercise 
some  authority,  or  at  least  persuasion,  towards  her. 

"  Perhaps  they  haven't  quite  killed  him !  "  ventured 
Angie  "  we'll  trust  not." 

"  Any  ways,  Hannah,"  suggested  Margery,  "  you'll 
catch  your  death  there  on  the  floor.  Just  get  into  my 
bed  now.  You'll  be  comfortable  there,  and  handy-like 


l.'.l  HAUXTED    HEARTS. 

\\hen  they  come  to  fetch  you  news  from  up  the 
mountain." 

I!;uinah  resisted  at  first,  declaring  she  would  stay 
where  she  was  until  she  knew  the  worst.  Neither 
would  <he  dir  :  >he  would  live.  Yes,  live  to  see  the 
murderers  brought  to  light,  and  justice  done  a-_rain-t 
them;  live  to  bear  testimony  to  the  crime,  and  have 
the  ra-ral-  brought  to  the  gallows.  "See  here!"  and 
with  a  triumphant  gesture  she  lilted  her  left  hand. 
hitherto  tightly  compressed,  and  as  she  raised  it  aloft- 
displayed  a  portion  of  some  dark  object,  apparently  a 
rag  of  woollen  cloth,  over  which  her  half-frozen  fingers 
were  convulsively  clasped.  "  He  thought  he'd  got 
clear  o'  me,  the  rascal!"  she  exclaimed,  with  revenge 
ful  vehemence,  u  but  I'll  teach  him  yet  to  know  the 
meaning  of  an  old  woman's  grip.  He's  slipped  through 
my  fingers  once,  hut  he's  left  behind  what  '11  slip  a  rope 
round  his  neck  one  o'  these  days,  or  my  name's  not  Han 
nah  Rawle.  I'll  hold  on  to  my  proof  till  the  law  hold- 
on  to  him." 

Margery,  awed  by  Hannah's  stern  expression  of  pur 
pose,  gazed  at  her  in  a  sort  o!'  >tup«»r  ;  Angie.  on  the 
contrary,  iii.-tiuctivdy  Mretched  out  her  hand,  and  almost 
snatched  at  the  boa-ted  token  of  rriiin  . 

••  Lei  go  !  "  erii-d  Hannah,  in  a  tierce,  forbidding  ton(f. 
"  Don't  touch  !  "  and  she  covetously  hid  behind  her  the 
hand  and  it-  pri/e. 

An;_rie  drew  back  a  -lej. —  tin-re  was  a  moment  of 
—  then  Margery  renewed  her  whining  entr. 


A  CRIME  AND  A  BIT  OF  PROOF.       155 

and  expostulations  on  the  subject  of  her  sister-in-law's 
sufferings  and  exposure  should  she  continue  longer  in  her 
present  position  on  the  floor,  and  this  time  successfully, 
though  it  was  evident  that  Hannah  permitted  herself  to 
be  assisted  to  bed  rather  with  a  view  to  Margery's  satis 
faction  than  her  own. 

Whether  her  senses  were  rendered  more  than  ordinarily 
acute,  or  her  suspicions  sharpened  by  her  terrible  experi 
ence,  the  old  woman  still  kept  a  jealous  hold  upon  her  me 
mento  of  a  night  of  horrors,  givingMargery  a  smart  repulse 
when  she  innocently  suggested  that  the  cold,  damp  thing 
would  chill  the  whole  bed,  and  watching  Angie  with  as 
much  distrust  as  if  she  had  been  a  huge  mothworm,  whose 
only  purpose  in  life  was  the  acquisition  of  a  woollen  rag. 

It  was  the  feverish  notion  of  an  excited  brain.  But 
excited,  intensified,  maddened  as  the  old  woman's  suspi 
cious  might  be,  they  fell  short  of  the  truth.  For  on  the 
possession  of  a  rag  —  that  rag  —  all  the  faculties  of 
Angie's  mind  and  body  were  concentrated.  She  watched, 
she  waited,  she  listened,  she  hoped,  she  prayed  ;  prayed 
that  the  search  on  the  mountain  might  be  long  delayed  ; 
hoped  that  Hannah  would  fall  asleep  meanwhile  ;  listened 
to  every  breath  she  drew ;  watched  and  waited  her  op 
portunity.  And  it  came.  Hannah  continued  long  awake. 
"With  staring  eyes  and  menacing  fist  she  lay  muttering 
her  lamentations  and  threats  ;  then  she  slept  —  by  snatches 
only  —  still  she  slept.  In  those  days,  and  that  district, 
ardent  spirit  was  the  common,  perhaps  in  a  case  like  that 
of  Hannah  Rawle,  the  best  restorative  ;  and  the  Jamaica 


i;.»;  H.I  i  A  /  /  i>  H h  \ , 

nun  li.-ul  been  too  fre.-ly  applied  to  produce  im  other  effect 
than  that  of  ivsusritatiiii:  tin-  -ulli-ivr.  It  first  helped  to 
excite,  hut  afterward-  to  compose  the  |«alicnt. 

Then-  \\a-  an  east  window  to  the  little  bed-room,  and 
the  pale  morning  light  wa>  sutlicient  lor  Annie's  purpose. 
Marjory  had  crept  up  stairs,  aud  her  step  could  be  heard 
;in  George's  attic  overhead.  Hannah  lay  motionless,  and 
her  breath  came  at  equal  intervals.  Angie  carefully 
turned  down  the  bed-clothes  and  applied  her  fingers  to 
the  object  which  tin-  sleeping  woman  still  hnirged  to  her 
side.  Slow,  Angic  ;  steady.  Ah  !  take  care  ;  she  stirs  .' 
The  young  girl  is  warned,  and  withdraws  her  hand.  The 
old  women  starts  convulsively,  mutters,  and  closes  her 
fingers  tighter  than  ever  over  her  prize.  There  is  a 
pan-.-  :  then  another  opportunity;  another  attempt,  \\hieh 
this  time  promises  success,  but  as  before,  ends  in  a  sudden 
fa ih in-.  Anuie  retreats  almost  discouraged  ;  her  chest 
heaves;  there  is  a  rising  in  her  throat  which  seems  to 
stiile  her.  Still  her  eye  is  on  the  coveted  rai: :  her  ear  is 
strained  ;  her  attitude  keen  and  watchful.  There  isalong 
interval  of  silence  and  suspense.  Margery's  attention 
continues  engrossed  ahove  stairs,  for  -he  ran  be  heard 
groping  about  the  attir.  Hark  now!  what  is  Hannah 
dreaming  of?  f.»r  -he  erie-  out  in  her  >lecp,  and  grasps 
with  both  hands  at  an  imaginary  ohjeet  in  the  air.  It 
eludes  her  grasp,  and  the  hand-  drop  empty.  (Juick,  Anjrii-  ! 
now  is  your  ehanee  !  Sin-  is  unconscious  of  her  loss  —  a 
moment  more,  and  sin-  may  wake  and  elaim  the  thing  you 
have  pounced  upon. 


A  CRIME  AND  A  BIT  OF  PROOF,       157 

But  now  Angle  lias  it ;  she  has  pulled  it  into  shape  ; 
she  has  held  it  up  to  the  light  —  and  it  is  —  O  heavens  ! 
it  is  the  thing  she  feared.  A  mitten,  —  a  home-knit  mit 
ten,  —  Geordie's  !  His  mother  had  shaped  it  to  her  boy's 
hand ;  Angie  herself  had  marked  it  with  her  lover's 
name  —  a  murderer's  hand  !  a  felon's  name  !  Have  pity, 
• —  have  pity,  O  God  ! 

What  is  she  doing?  Why  is  she  tearing  at  it  so 'fran 
tically?  She  dare  not  destroy  it.  It  will  surely  be 
claimed  at  her  hands,  and  her  own  act  would  bring  sus 
picion  on  the  house.  But  she  can  destroy  its  identity. 
With  a  crooked  pin  for  her  weapon,  and  horrid  fear  for 
her  spur,  she  is  tearing  out  the  red  letters,  —  G.  R.,  — 
copied  from  her  own  sampler,  wrought  by  her  own  fingers 
less  than  a  week  ago,  —  George  himself  looking  on. 

How  the  damp  worsted  clings  !  Be  careful,  Angie  ;  a 
broken  stitch  may  betray  you  and  him.  Quick,  but 
leave  no  tell-tale  sign.  With  one  eye  on  her  task  and 
the  other  casting  rapid  glances  at  her  sleeping  tyrant, 
she  pulls,  picks,  tears  at  the  threads ;  with  a  prudence, 
born  of  dread,  she  crouches  on  the  floor,  and  spreads 
her  apron  on  her  lap,  that  not  a  shred  of  the  fatal 
color  may  escape  her.  Your  time  is  up,  Angie  !  The 
sleeper  moves.  See  !  see  !  she  is  feeling  for  it ! 

And  she  has  it  again.  One  frantic  effort  and  the  last 
red  stitch  is  extracted,  the  mitten  is  flung  within  reach  of 
the  groping  fingers  ;  they  have  closed  over  it,  and  the  old 
woman  wakens  with  a  grunt  of  satisfaction  at  the  security 
in  which  she  still  holds  her  prize,  while  Angie  makes 
14 


168  HA  IN  TED    Hi    t  /:  I  <. 

haste  to  empty  the  eontents  of  her  apron  into  the  fire 
before  Margery,  whose  step  is  already  on  the  stairs,  can 
reenter  the  kitchen. 

She  has  succeeded.  And  it  gives  her  breath ini:  time. 
Fresh  witnesses  of  guilt  may  arrive  at  any  moment,  hut 
she  ha-  di-armed  mir.  and,  tortured  as  she  is  with  horror 
and  apprehension,  tin-re  i-  a  tinge  of  triumph  in  her 
agony. 

There  are  seasons  in  human  experience  so  intense  that 
the  whole  of  lift-  -L-ems  to  be  concentrated  in  the  passing 
moment.  The  earth  is  falling  from  beneath  our  feet  :  we 
catch  at  straws,  and  the  very  effort  affords  us  an  instant's 
respite  from  despair. 

The  brief  advantage  gained,  we  pause,  shudder,  and 
again  cry  out  for  help.  "What  next?"  thought  Angi»s 
as,  sinking  down,  like  one  crushed  by  some  heavy  weight, 
she  listened  t..  the  ticking  <•!'  tlu-  clock  al>o\e  her  head, 
and  felt  as  it'  each  -troke  were  the  stroke  of  doom. 

The  answer  came  at  length  in  the  -tamping  of  feet  out 
side  the  house,  and  a  quick  hand  laid  on  the  door-latch. 

"  Who's  that?  "  exclaimed  Hannah,  sitting  up  straight 
in  bed.  "  Is  that  Geordi.  ''.  " 

"  No,"  answered  Margery,  who  had  also  given  a  start, 
"  tain't  him,  tain't  his  Mep."  ami  as  .-he  -poke  the  door 
opened  abruptly,  and  Dick  Van  Ilan.-en  entered. 

It  was  now  broad  daylight,  and  Van  Hausen's  eye 
falling  at  once  upon  the  object  of  his  visit,  who,  a-  -he 
.-at  upright  in  bed,  was  directly  opposite  the  entrance,  he 
needed  to  ask  no  question  concerning  her. 


SHRIFT  AND    ABSOLUTION.  159 

As  the  strong-featured,  grisly-haired  man  came  in 
with  his  heavy  tramp,  and  crossed  the  kitchen  to  the  bed 
room  without  apology  and  in  silence,  he  seemed  like  some 
avenging  champion.  Margery  and  Angie  trembled  and 
shrank  into  corners,  where  they  kept  a  sharp  lookout, 
however,  like  two  spies,  as  they  were.  Hannah's  features 
were  strained  meanwhile  with  an  intense  expression  of 
eagerness  and  expectation,  the  sharp  lines  of  which  set 
tled  into  a  fixed  defiant  despair  as  she  heard  his  loud, 
grave,  "  Wai,  Hannah  !  "  and  saw  in  the  solemn  vibrating 
of  his  head  from  side  to  side,  a  negation  and  rebuke  to 
hope.  It  is  doubtful  with  what  blunt  word  of  conviction 
he  might  have  proceeded  to  fulfil  his  errand  (for  Van 
Hausen  was  not  a  man  of  eloquence  or  circumlocution, 
and  always  took  the  shortest  way  to  the  truth),  but 
Hannah  saved  him  even  that  trouble.  She  had  read  the 
verdict  in  his  face. 

"  Wai,  Dick,"  she  immediately  responded,  "  they've 
done  fur  my  old  man  !  " 

"  That's  a  fact,"  blurted  Dick,  "  they  have." 

"  Have  you  been  on  the  mountain  ?  " 

"  Not  yet  I  hain't,  but  I've  seen  them  as  has.  Stein's 
folks  was  among  the  fust  roused.  I  met  'em  jest  the 
other  side  o'  here.  I  only  looked  in  to  make  sure  you 
warn't  murdered  yerself,  and  to  break  the  wust  to  yer. 
I'm  on  my 'way  up  now." 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  said  Hannah  ;  "the  only  com 
fort  for  me  is  to  know  that  folks  is  on  the  track  o'  the 
murderers.  Don't  let  'em  leave  a  stone  unturned,  Dick. 


1(30 

( Ml'er  a  reward,  and  get  them  feller-  up  from  York  as 
knows  how  to  ferret  out  things.  It's  most  like  'twas 
murder  fust  and  stcalin'  arteru  ards,  so  1  don't  doubt 
they've  robbed  my  old  man-  >tronir  box,  but  theiv's 
money  enough  left  to  bring  'em  to  justice,  I  reckon, 
and  I'll  spend  every  farthing  ou't  but  what  I'll  see  'em 
swing." 

"I'll  back  yer  up  in  that,  Hannah,"  said  Dick,  with 
eneruy.  "  If  any  man  thinks  he  can  beat  another's 
brains  out  and  not  suffer  for't,  we  '11  let  him  know  to 
the  contrairy." 

"  I've  got  a  clew  a'ready,"  boasted  Hannah,  holding 
up  the  mitten,  and  shaking  it  before  the  eyes  of  her 
audience.  "  Find  the  hand  that  this  'ere  '11  fit,  Dick, 
an*  you'll  find  the  hand  that  dealt  a  death-blow." 

"  Dun  know  'bout  that !  "  said  Dick,  as  he  took  the  mit 
ten  and  handled  it  with  interest.  "  Common  'nuf  mitten 
that,  and  wud  fit  most  any  body.  If  we  could  come 
across  the  mate  though,  't  might  be  worth  while.  Hold 
on  to  it  anyhow  !  There's  no  knowin'  how  it  may  tell  with 
a  jury  one  o*  these  days.  Smaller  things  than  that  ha1 
hung  a  man.  My  soul,  gal!"  continued  he,  suddenly 
addressing  Anjiie,  who  had  gradually  crept  close  to  hi- 
elbow.  and  whose  agitation,  for  the  first  time,  am 
his  notice,  "  how  shaky  you  are  on  yer  undcrpinniif . 
an' yer  face  hain't  jrot  no  more  col.»r  than  a  white  pine 
board.  Don't  be  nfearcd.  child  :  We'll  catch  the  fellers. 
an'  have  'em  in  the  lock-np  'fore  thi-  world's  many  days 
older.  Anyhow,  they  won't  ventur'  into  ihe-e  part 


SHKIFT   AMJ    ABSOLUTION.  161 

in  a  hurry  arter  the  stroke  o'  business  they  did  last 
night.  But  here  I  am  losin'  time  a'ready.  I  must  be 
off  up  the  mountain.  Geordie's  got  the  start  o'  me,  I'll 
warrant,  Mis'  Rawle.  I'm  sorry  for't.  There's  nothin' 
like  havin'  good  company  on  a  bad  arrant.  Hollo ! 
What's  the  matter  wi'  the  woman?" 

Margery  was  clinging  to  one  of  the  bedposts,  and 
shaking  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"  Scar't  to  death,  ain't  she  !  Wai,  Lord  ha'  mercy  on 
us !  it's  enough  to  scare  strong  folks,  let  alone  the  like 
o'  her."  "  Take  care  on  her.  Take  care  o'  both  on  'em, 
young  ooman,  an'  you  keep  up  yer  pluck,  Hannah.  I'll 
come  back  an'  bring  Geordie  with  me  when  we've  got 
through  our  sarch." 

He  turned  to  go.  With  a  strong  effort  at  self-com 
mand,  Angie  followed  him.  "  George  isn't  about  home, 
Mr.  Van  Hausen,"  she  found  voice  to  utter. 

"  George  away  !  Don't  say  so,"  muttered  Van  Hausen, 
in  evident  regret,  not  to  say  vexation. 

"  Yes  !  We  don't  expect  him  back  at  present,''  ven 
tured  Angie  ;  then  added,  in  a  hesitating  tone,  "  he  and  I 
have  quarrelled." 

"You  have,  have  yer?"  exclaimed  Van  Hausen, 
wrathfully  ;  "hang  these  women,"  he  muttered,  "they're 
allers  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  mischief  !  Then  let  me 
tell  yer,"  he  added  to  Angie,  who  looked  wretched  and 
penitent  enough  just  then  to  have  been  spared  the  re 
buke,  "  that  you've  done  about  vthe  misfortinest  thing 
that  ever  you  was  up  ter.  If  ever  Geordie  was  wanted 
14* 


n  A  i   \  WMD   n  i:  A  n  . 

in  this  world  it's  now,  when  you've  sent  him  a  llyin*  olV 
the  handle.  Je.-l  like  \er.  you  little " 

Here  Van  Hauseu,  at  a  loss  to  find  a  suiliciently  con- 
tt-mptuous  U-rni.  j^ra>ped  the  .-houlder  «>f'  the  umv.-ist inur 
girl  by  way  of  emphasis.  IK-  would  not  have  hurt  her 
for  the  world,  still,  ner\ous  and  conscience-stricken,  sin- 
trembled  beneath  the  touch  «»t'  his  irr«-at  hand. 

"  Them  Stein's  '11  be  forrard  enough  in  this  'ere  IUI.M- 
ril  warrant,"  continued  Van  Hausen,  in  a  sort  of 
muttered  growl ;  "and  what's  to  hinder?  Geordie  '>  tin- 
only  other  chip  o'  the  old  stock,  an'  he's  off  for  Virginny 
by  this  time,  like  enough  !  The  boy 's  been  kind  o'  sore 
agin  his  uncle  Baultie  o'  late ;  but  he'll  take  a  back 
track  when  he  larns  what  a  cruel  end  the  old  man's 
come  tor." 

Van  Hausen  was  soliloquizing,  so  he  never  heeded  the 
fact  that  there  was  no  iv>pon>c  to  his  words  on  Angle's 
part ;  but  while  she  stood  stunned  and  torpid,  like  a 
mouse  just  released  from  a  lion's  grip,  he  turned  a\\  av 
and  went  ploughing  through  the  snow,  continuing  to 
mutter  to  himself  as  he  went. 


BATTLING     WITH   FATE.  163 


CHAPTER    XI. 

BATTLING    WITH    FATE. 

DOES  Margery  know?  It  is  not  easy  to  judge.  That 
"  scar't"  look  seemed  to  convict  her  of  participation  in 
the  dreadful  secret,  but  on  the  other  hand,  after  Van 
Hausen  had  gone,  she  became  composed,  and  even  went 
about  her  common  household  duties.  Not  once  did  An- 
gie,  who  was  keenly  observant,  catch  her  eye,  —  not  one 
syllable  of  information  did  she  glean  from  her  lips. 
Mute  and  downcast,  she  groped  about  the  kitchen 
hearth,  the  woodshed,  or  her  son's  attic  chamber,  —  not 
a  glance  of  curiosity,  not  an  exclamation  of  alarm,  es 
caping  her,  —  stranger  still,  not  a  murmur,  not  even 
a  sigh.  Silence  had  set  its  seal  upon  her,  and  a  stone 
statue  could  not  have  been  more  non-committal. 

Was  this  prudence  or  stupor,  the  stoicism  of  resolve, 
or  the  reaction  after  a  night  of  excitement?  It  might 
have  been  either. 

The  storm  had  cleared,  and  the  Christmas  sun  was 
shining  brightly  in  at  the  cottage  windows  ;  but  it  could 
not  relieve  the  mystery,  light  up  the  darkness,  heal  the 


164  II  I  I     \   II    l>     HI     I  KTS. 

% 

pain  which  the  night  li:nl  left  to  moek  the  day.  The 
glistening  >no\v  had  mantled  the  earth  in  a  holiday  iln-.-s 
lor  happy  eyes  t<>  i:a/e  upon,  hut  ln»rr«ir-.-tnn-k  face-  jrc\\ 
paler  yet  a-  they  caught  >i-_rlit  of  Nature  lying  >tiil'  and 
still  under  her  cold  death-robe.  So,  too,  on  tin-  inmiii- 
tain-tup.  \\hn-c  guilty  Ni,Lrlit  had  witnessed  a  deed  of 
blood,  innocent  Day  \\a-  j>o\verless  to  atone  for  the 
crime.  Something,  however,  she  could  and  did  betray. 

An  old  man  dead,  a  strong-box  empty,  a  peaceful 
homestead  transformed  into  a  deserted  tomb!  Nijhi 
and  its  accomplices  had  tlrd  together;  but  morning 
revealed  the  open  window  through  which  murder  en 
tered,  the  rope  with  which  she  bound  her  victim,  the 
disorder  which  attested  the  struggle,  the  very  instru 
ment  of  the  crime. 

And  without  the  house,  too,  the  pure  snow,  whirh 
elsewhere  veiled  all  earth's  disfigurements,  and  hid  lu-r 
stains,  furnished  a  written  record,  which  he  who  ran 
might  read.  Heaven  had  checked  IHT  storm  just  in 
season  to  secure  •  the  evidence,  and  had  sent  out  her 
frost  to  stereotype  it. 

The  distinct  tracks  of  sleigh-runners  from  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  to  the  very  door-stone  of  tin-  dwelling 
jilVordi'd  a  douhlc  line  of  testimony  as  to  the  route  and 
mode  of  travel  pursued  by  the  murderers,  both  in  going 
and  returning,  and  the  clumsy  boot  of  the  individual  who 
had  reconnoitred  the  house,  and  found  access  at  the 
window,  had  left  it-  impiv  —  i.in  at  every  Mep.  Nor  was 
a  link  wanting  between  the  proof  afforded  within  doors 


BATTLING    WITH  FATE.  165 

and  without.  Deep  as  was  the  snow,  it-  was  easy  to 
discern  traces  of  an  accident  and  delay,  which  the  party, 
bound  upon  their  cruel  errand,  had  encountered  about 
half  way  up  the  mountain.  At  this  point  their  vehicle 
had  evidently  been  disabled,  and  further  progress  impeded 
by  the  breakage  of  one  of  the  sleigh-runners  ;  thencefor 
ward,  and  on  the  return  track,  one  side  of  the  sleigh  had 
been  more  depressed  than  the  other,  and  while  one  run 
ner  had  marked  a  smooth  furrow,  the  other  had  ploughed 
roughly  through  the  snow.  To  corroborate  the  sus 
picions  to  which  this  circumstance  gave  rise,  the  only 
instrument  of  violence  found  upon  the  premises  was  this 
same  iron  runner,  which  lay  near  the  head  of  the  fallen 
Baultie,  at  whose  temples  it  had  no  doubt  dealt  the 
bloodless  but  fatal  blow. 

"  And  is  that  all?"  asked  Hannah,  when  Van  Hausen, 
who  returned  just  before  noon,  had  reported  the  above 
as  the  result  of  a  diligent  search  on  the  part  of  an 
excited  neighborhood. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Van  Hausen,  speaking  loud,  and 
close  to  her  ear,  "  that's  about  the  long  an'  the  short  on 
it,  as  fur's  I  can  make  out." 

"  What !  no  stabs  on  the  body ;  no  clothes  o'  theirn 
stained  with  blood  ;  no  knives  nor  nothin'  ?  "  questioned 
Hannah  with  a,  sort  of  savage  disappointment. 

"  No  ;  they  shaved  their  work  off  smooth,  and  made  a 
neat  job  on  it.  I'll  say  that  fur  'em,"  bawled  Dick  ;  his 
habitual  respect  for  a  skilful  workman  giving  to  his  tone, 
as  well  as  to  his  words,  the  eifect  of  a  complimentary 
tribute. 


166  BAUNTF.I)   HI-:.\RTS. 

44  The  rininin'  kn:i\  »••=•!"  cried  Hannah;  "with  tlie 
ovil  out-  hisst'lf  a  backin'  'era  up  no  wonder  they  did 
their  work  thorough.  Still  I  was  a  hopin*  you'd  ha'  found 
sometlmf  with  a  mark  on't,  Dick,  —  a  hankerehcr,  or  a 
jack-knife,  may  be.  Somethin'  that  might  help  you  to 
fuller  'cm  ii])." 

"  Law,  now,  do  hear  the  woman  !  "  began  Dick,  in  his 
n-ual  tone  ;  then  elevating  his  voice,  he  continued,  u  why, 
you  don't  s'pose,  do  yer,  that  folks  in  their  line  o'  busi 
ness  leave  their  names  behind  'em  when  they  call,  or  send 
yer  word  where  you'll  find  'em  agin  at  short  notice?  " 

"  I  ain't  a  fool,  Dick  !  "  retorted  Hannah,  hotly  ;  k-  hut 
this  much  I  know  for  >artain —  them  as  sarves  the 
Almighty  has  luck  on  their  side  :  them  a*  tollers  the  lead 
<»'  the  old  sarpent  may  wriggle  about  a  long  while,  but 
they  never  travel  so  fast  nor  so  fur  but  that  their  evil 
desarts  will  come  up  wi'  'em  some  day.  May  the  Lord 
that  rules  in  heaven  hasten  on  that  day  of  justice,  and 
may  I  live  to  see  it  —  that's  my  prayer,"  she  added,  in  a 
tone  in  which  revenge  and  supplication  were  strangely 
minified. 

"That's  a  nat'ral  wi.-h."  .-aid  Van  Ilausen,  "I  say 
amen  to  it;  and  you,  too,  Mis'  Rawle,  don't  yer?"  and 
he  turned  suddenly  in  the  direction  where  Margery,  who 
had  followed  him  into  the  bed-room,  stood  just  within  the 
doorway.  She  was  wiping  "  di>h  at  her  sink  when  Van 
llaii.-en  iventeivd  thehi»u>e —  the  >amedi>h  which  .-lu 
ll. id  \acanllv  wa-hed  HIM!  wiped  ,-everal  times  during  the 
morning.  Standing  with  it  half  wrapped  in  the  di-h- 


BATTLING    WITH   FATE.  167 

towel,  she  had  clung  convulsively  to  it  while  listening 
to  the  tidings  which  Dick  brought,  but  at  his  abrupt 
question  it  dropped  to  the  floor  and  was  broken  to 
pieces. 

"  Lord  bless  the  woman,  and  save  the  crockery ! " 
ejaculated  Van  Hausen. 

Angie,  who,  stationed  within  hearing,  had  also  been 
drinking  in  the  news,  darted  forward  and  busied  herself 
in  collecting  the  fragments. 

"The  jiltin'  hussy,  what  business  has  she  here?" 
grunted  Dick,  as  he  looked  down  with  disdain  at  the 
poor  girl  thus  humbly  occupied  at  his  feet.  Angie's  ear 
did  not  catch  the  exact  purport  of  his  words,  but  the 
epithet  bestowed  on  her  was  intelligible  enough,  and  she 
retreated  instinctively  from  his  vicinity. 

"  Margery  !  "  now  exclaimed  Hannah,  reprovingly, 
from  her  bed,  "  you're  weak !  Go  an'  set  down.  You 
ain't  fit  to  stand  about.  Any  body  'd  think  'twas  her, 
an'  not  me,  that  had  got  a  blow  !  "  she  added,  with  stoical 
self-complacency. 

Margery,  meek  and  dumb,  crept  away  to  her  straight- 
backed  chair,  in  the  kitchen  chimney-corner,  sat  down, 
clasped  her  hands,  and  gazed  into  the  fire.  Angie  moved 
off  in  the  direction  of  the  woodshed  with  the  broken 
crockery  in  her  apron.  Hannah  Rawle  and  Van  Hausen, 
left  alone,  held  a  short  conversation,  during  which  the 
former  gave  some  directions  concerning  the  final  disposi 
tion  of  her  husband's  body,  leaving  it  to  her  brother  to 
make  such  arrangements  as  he  thought  proper  for  the 


168  BA  I    V  i  I.  1)    11  i:  ARTS. 

coroner's  inqm-M.  Sin-  hermit' would  remain  where  she 
was,  she  said  —  a  resolve  which  her  condition,  perhaps, 
rendered  inevitable,  but  which  she,  at  all  events,  arrived 
at  independently  of  any  consultation  with  Margery. 

These  poiut.s  lu-inir  settled,  and  reiterated  charges  liaving 
been  .given  to  Van  Hausen  to  spare  no  efforts  for  the 
discovery  and  apprehension  of  the  murderers,  he  again 
left  the  house  to  pursue  his  investigations,  and  otherwise 
act  in  his  sister's  behalf. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  now?"  said  Angie  in  an  interrogative 
tone  to  Margery,  and  she  put  on  her  hood  and  com 
menced  tying  it. 

Margery  answered  by  casting  a  shrinking  glance  to 
wards  the  bed-room,  as  if  she  feared  being  left  alone 
with  its  inmate,  at  the  same  time  clinging  to  Angie's 
hand,  which  she  caught  and  held  tight,  veiling  the  action, 
however,  beneath  the  folds  of  a  shawl  that  hung  over  the 
girl's  arm. 

"  I'll  come  back  by  and  by,"  whispered  An.irie,  at  once 
putting  a  right  interpretation  upon  the  look  and  gesture. 

Margery,  satisfied  with  this  promise,  released  her  hold, 
and  Angie  hastened  home  to  dine  with  her  father,  or  at 
least  sit  down  with  him  to  the  Christmas  dinner,  which 
she  knew  both  he  and  Happy  would  be  disappointed  if 
she  were  not  there  to  share. 

It  was  a  hard  ordeal  for  Angie.  The  volatile  little 
Frenchman  was  greatly  excited  by  the  events  of  the 
morning.  With  an  instinctive  dread  of  participating  in 
any  painful  scene,  he  had  confined  his  neighborly  duties 


BATTLING    WITH   FATE.  169 

to  rousing  others  and  despatching  them  up  the  mountain  ; 
but  he  had,  nevertheless,  waylaid  each  party  on  their  re 
turn,  and  had  possessed  himself  of  all  the  information 
they  brought.  He  now  talked  volubly,  speculated  wildly, 
and  plied  Angie  with  questions,  each  one  of  which  was 
to  her  an  instrument  of  torture.  The  tough  fowl,  the 
last  of  his  race,  which,  like  Mr.  Cousin's  other  experi 
ments  in  farming,  had  never  thriven,  was  larded  and 
interlarded  with  the  melancholy  particulars,  which  Mr. 
Cousin  had  gleaned ;  and  Happy's  pastry  was  seasoned 
with  such  minute  details  as  could  be  extracted  from  Angie 
concerning  the  circumstances  that  had  transpired  at  the 
cottage,  —  subjects  little  favorable  to  Christmas  cheer  un 
der  any  circumstances  !  —  to  Angie,  a  wretched  foretaste 
of  what  Fate  had  in  store  for  her.  Burdened  as  she  was 
with  a  weight  of  suffering,  sin,  and  secrecy,  she  realized 
how  hopeless  would  be  any  attempt  to  hide  or  flee  from 
the  poisoned  shafts  which  the  curiosity,  the  malice,  and 
the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood  would  hourly  inflict. 

Fortunately  for  her,  no  degree  of  agitation  was  a  mat 
ter  of  surprise  in  a  community  where  all  were  excited 
bjr  rumors,  fears,  and  exaggerations  ;  and  for  the  inward 
pain,  that  had  so  fastened  its  fang  upon  her,  that,  struggle 
as  she  might,  it  would  not  yield  its  prey  ;  and,  so  that  she 
had  strength  given  her  not  to  betray,  she  was  nerved  to 
endure.  And  nobody  suspected  her,  and  she  bore  up. 
How,  they  may  ask,  who  have  only  seen  phantom  mis 
eries  in  the  dim  perspective  —  How,  let  them  answer 
who  have  proved  the  monsters  real  and  survived  the 
15 


1 70  a  A  UNTJ-:  i)  n  /•:  .//./>. 

shock.  Men  and  women  speeulate  on  imaginary  woes ; 
realities  they  live  through  —  let  each  one  answer  how  :  — 
let  all  believe  that  'k  as  our  day  so  ahull  our  -trench  be." 

It  was  towards  dusk,  when  Annie  once  more  prepared 
to  make  lu-r  way  through  the  snowdrifts  to  Margery's 
cottage.  Mr.  Cousin,  early  broken  of  his  rest,  and  wea 
ried  with  the  excitements  of  the  day.  had  fallen  asleep  in 
1 1 is  arm-chair,  and  Angie,  before  leaving,  took  the  pre 
caution  to  inform  Happy  that  unless  she  came  home 
before  dark,  it  mii_rht  he  taken  lor  granted  that  .-he  meant 
to  spend  the  night  at  Mrs.  Ruwle's. 

As  she  crossed  the  lields  and  approached  the  cottage 
from  a  quarter  opposite  the  road,  sip  was  >urj»rised  at 
the  light  which  streamed  from  the  back  window  of  the 
kitchen.  As  she  drew  nearer,  she  di.-covcivd  it  to  pro 
ceed  from  a  brighter  fire  than  she  had  ever  before  beheld 
in  the  fireplace  of  the  prudent  Margery,  and  stranger 
still,  the  old  woman  herself  might  be  seen  bending  over 
her  hearth,  one  arm  heavily  laden  with  fuel,  which  with 
the  other  she  was  rapidly  heaping  on  the  fire. 

Are  those  short  fagots  irreeu  or  water-snaked,  that 
they  smoulder  and  smoke  so?  And  why  does  Margery, 
now  and  then,  plunge  her  hand  into  a  basket  beside  h.  r. 
and  fiini:  on  heaps  of  .-having-,  ehip-,  and  other  combuMi- 
ble  matter,  to  inerea.-e.  the  bla/e  r  Is  this  a  time  and 
place  for  lighting  Christmas  fires  and  burning  yule  logs  ? 

Such  were  the  questions  which  Angie  a>ked  herself 
M  -he  drew  near  the  window,  pre.-.-ed  her  face  ai:aiii.-t  it> 
frosty  panes,  and  followed  Margery's  motions  with  an 


BATTLING    WITH  FATE.  171 

observant  eye.  Whether  it  was  anxiety,  fear,  or  simply 
curiosity  which  impelled  Angie's  scrutiny,  the  result  was 
apparently  decisive,  for,  after  a  few  minutes  of  earnest 
watching  she  withdrew  a  few  steps  from  the  window,  and 
quietly  waited  until  Margery's  supply  of  fuel  was  ex 
hausted.  She  then  entered  the  house  at  the  wood-shed 
door,  though  not  without  first  shaking  the  snow  from  her 
feet,  rattling  the  lock,  and  otherwise  giving  indications  of 
her  approach.  Notwithstanding  these  precautions,  she 
found  Margery  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  wearing 
the  frightened  look  of  one  detected  in  a  crime. 

"Did  I  startle  you?  Never  mind  me,  I'm  alone," 
said  Angie,  soothingly,  while  Margery  sank  into  a  chair, 
speechless. 

"  You've  got  a  good  fire,"  said  Angie,  with  an  attempt 
at  her  usual  cheerful  ease.  "  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  I'm 
^old  and  damp  ;  "  and  throwing  her  shawl  over  the  back  of 
a  chair,  and  placing  herself  on  a  low  seat  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  she  continued,  pointing  to  the  bed-room,  —  u  Is 
she  asleep  ?  " 

Margery  nodded  in  the  affirmative ;  then,  either  rest 
less  or  fearful  of  being  further  questioned,  she  rose  up 
suddenly,  and  making  a  pretext  of  her  chip-basket,  the 
same  which  George  had  filled  the  night  before,  and  which 
she  had  now  emptied,  went  out  with  it  into  the  shed, 
where  she  could  be  heard  fumbling  at  the  wood-pile.  If 
Angie  had  a  doubt  regarding  the  nature  of  Margery's  re 
cent  employment,  here  was  an  opportunity  of  solving  it. 
Just  above  her  head  was  the  press  in  which  the  widow's 


17J  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

Mock  nt1  valuables  was  tin-  tin-  most  part  garnered  up. 
An-ie  knew  the  corner  in  which  the  products  of  her  in- 
du.-try  were  iu\ariably  Mowed.  It  was  but  to  pull  out  a 
drawer.  plunge  in  a  hand,  and  cvrtity  one's  self  of  its  pre- 
,-ent  condition.  It  was  done  —  the  drawer  was  empty. 
Add  to  tiiis  the  smell  of  burning  '»\«» >\  which  loaded  the 
atmosphere,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  fruits 
of  .Marj.Tv'-  -kill  and  economy  in  carding,  spinning,  and 
dyeing  had  been  ruthlessly  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  se 
crecy,  that  the  poor  mother  had  been  eagerly  feeding  the 
flames  with  all  that  remained  of  those  brown,  hard- 
twisted  skeins  of  home-spun  yarn,  of  which  her  son's 
knitted  mittens  had  been  the  first  and  the  only  manufac 
ture. 

Scarcely  had  Angie's  suspicion,  however,  the  time  to 
flash  into  certainty  ;  scarcely  had  the  brass  drawer  handle 
ceased  to  click  against  its  metallic  plate  as  the  drawer 
flew  back  into  its  place,  when  the  front  door  of  the  cot 
tage  opened,  and  a  visitor  entered. 

It  was  Diedrich  Stein.  Coming  as  he  did  from  the 
direction  of  the  road,  and  passing  only  a  window  whose 
shutter  was  closed  and  barred.  Stein  had  not  enjoyed  the 
same  opportunity  that  An-ie  had  of  surveying  the  premi 
ses  before  entering.  His  keen  senses,  however,  be  in;:  al 
ways  on  the  alert,  it  was  not  surprising  that  he  came  in 
with  the  air  of  one  who  snulVed  mi. -chief. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Stein  !  4'  -aid  . \n-ie.  iaeini:  about 
bri.-kly,  and  at  the  same  time  with  a  carelessness  (if  it  were 
\ei-y  unusual  to  her,  contriving  to  push  the 


BATTLING     WITH   FATE.  173 

chair,  over  which  her  shawl  hung,  nearly  into  the  fire. 
"It  is  a  cold  evening,  sir ;  take  a  seat." 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  well  to-night,  Miss  Angie,"  said 
the    dingy    little    brown    man,    bowing    low  ;     "  pretty 

well  —  that   is,  —  of  course  —  considering "  with 

a  series  of  pauses  which  were  intended,  like  his  words, 
to  qualify  the  possibility  of  rude  health  under  the 
present  depressing  circumstances  —  then,  stopping  short, 
and  with  his  nose  elevated ;  "  don't  I  smell  some 
thing?  Margery,  woman,  what's  burning?"  turning 
towards  Margery,  who  was  coming  in  at  the  moment 
he  put  the  question.  Margery,  terrified  alike  by 
her  brother's  presence  and  his  question  looked  dis 
tractedly  wild  ;  but  Angie  had  already  provided 
for  this  emergency,  and  was  sufficient  for  the  oc 
casion. 

"  O  my  shawl !  it  is  all  on  fire !  "  was  the  girl's 
quick  response  to  Stein's  query ;  and  darting  forward, 
she  snatched  from  the  embers  one  end  of  the  woollen 
shawl,  which,  truly  enough,  was  dangling  where  Angie 
had  purposely  thrust  it,  just  over  the  bed  of  coals,  —  a 
second  burnt-offering  laid  on  that  fiery  altar,  and  no 
vain  one  either ;  for,  as  Hannah,  wakened  by  the  sound 
of  voices,  now  started  up  with  the  cry,  "  You're  all 
a-fire  !  "  Angie,  zealously  smothering  the  flames,  was 
able  to  satisfy  her  also  with  the  assurance,  "  My  shawl 's 
been  on  fire,  ma'am,  but  I've  put  it  out — it's  of  no 
consequence." 

"  No  consequence  !  "  retorted  Hannah,  sharply.    "  My 
15* 


171  HAL'XTKU    H  t'.  .t  l:  TS. 

'  what  are  the-e  young  folk-  a  mmm'  to.  with  their 
« \uvk\ssness,  I  wonder!  They'd  hum  th«-  h«»u-e  down 
«.\er  \vr  head,  and  then  >ay  it  was  no  con-equei. 

44  New  shawls  don't  grow  on  every  bush,"  remarked 
St.-iu,  sententiou>ly. 

Harsh  ivhukcs  thc.-e,  for  Angic ;  she,  so  used  to  flat 
tery,  was  getting  blamed  on  all  sides  to-day.  But  such 
blame  was  praise  to  her  cars.  It  proved, the  success 
of  her  ruse,  and  protected  the  achievement  of  Margery. 
These  two  women  were  lighting  together  again-t  fate, 
and  keeping  despair  at  bay.  Like  drowning  men  bat 
tling  for  life  with  the  waves,  they  little  heeded  the 
comments  of  spectators  on  the  shore. 

Stein's  visit  was  one  of  condolence  —  so  this  little 
alarm  over,  he  proceeded  at  once  to  business.  Stein 
had  a  face  for  such  occasions,  as  well  as  for  those  of 
a  convivial  character.  Not  that  the  landlord's  features 
were  naturally  mobile,  or  that  a  quick  alternation  of 
emotions  in  him  had  power  to  transform  the  outer  man. 
But  he  was  like  one  of  those  comic  pictures  whose  hai>h 
outline,  presenting  in  one  view  a  visage  on  the  broad 
grin,  needs  only  to  be  reversed  to  display  a  countenance 
•/rim  as  midnight  or  hopelessly  woebegone.  Thus 
Stein,  giving  his  features  a  sudden  wrench,  was  able,  at 
pleasure,  to  as.-umr  hi-  hun»orou<  ma-k.  his  mask  of 
severity,  or  his  sable  mask,  —  and  it  was  this  last  named 
di-LMii-r  which  lie  now  wore. 

Hi-  voice,  too,  was  capable  of  modulations  corre 
sponding  to  the  part  he  had  to  play.  Cracked  and 


BATTLING    WITH   FATE.  175 

squeaking  by  nature,  it  could  never  possess  the  music 
of  mirth,  nor  draw  from  the  deep  wells  of  pathos  or 
tragedy  ;  but  he  had  a  smart,  brisk  tongue  for  flattery,  a 
harsh,  stinging  lash  with  the  same  member  for  the  cor 
rection  of  offenders,  and  a  subdued  twang  for  the  benefit 
of  all  objects  of  commiseration. 

Thus,  with  a  mouth  well-drawn  down  at  the  corners, 
and  stepping  on  tiptoe,  he  ventured  to  insert  his  head 
within  the  bed-room  door,  and  to  drawl  out,  "  Mis' 
Rawle,  I  jest  looked  in  to  see  how  you  find  yourself 
to-night,  —  tolerable,  1  hope,  —  considering  ?  " 

Hannah,  who  had  an  instinctive  distrust  of  Stein,  and 
who,  either  from  infirmity  or  obstinacy,  was  always 
more  than  ordinarily  deaf  to  his  words,  answered  him 
only  with  a  stare  of  irritation.  He  was  obliged  to 
repeat  his  remark  in  a  louder  key,  robbing  it  thereby 
of  much  of  its  significancy. 

"  O,  I'm  well  enough,"  answered  Hannah,  curtly. 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you?  "  asked  Stein,  keeping 
his  voice  up  to  the  required  pitch. 

"You?    No." 

"  This  is  a  sad  piece  o'  business,  Mis'  Rawle." 

"  Yes,  sad  for  some." 

"  Sad  for  all,  ma'am ;  your  husband  was  a  thrifty 
man,  universally  respected." 

"  So  much  the  wuss  for  them  that's  lost  him  ;  so  much 
the  better  for  them  that  steps  inter  his  shoes." 

"  I've  lost  a  most  excellent  friend  in  Baultie  Rawle," 
said  Stein,  adroitly  appropriating  to  himself  the  portion 


170  HA  U2fTM  i>   ///.  .\  A  ;  .y 

of  Hannah'.-  remark  leaM  intended  to  inelude  him. 
••  'I'h«'  rogues  that  took  his  life,  took  what  '11  never  be 
made  up  to  in*-  in  this  world." 

"They've  hrokcn  up  the  money-die- 1.  I  liear,  and 
earried  otl'  the  best  part  o'  my  old  man's  >a\ins;  that's 
bad  for  tin-  heir.-,  .-artain."  remarked  Hannah,  who  was 
not  to  be  outdone  by  Stein  in  putting  whatever  inter- 
j. relation  she  eho.-e  upon  another's  words. 

"  The  gold  is  nothing,  ma'am,"  said  Stein,  perse 
vering  in  his  hypocritical  show  of  disinterestedness ; 
44  besides,  that  may  he  ivrovi-rud,  hut  there  is  no  bring 
ing  back  the  dead.'1 

u  Let  them  that  is  consarned  foller  up  the  gold," 
responded  Hannah.  "  They  can't  do  a  better  sarv in 
to  Baultic  nor  me  than  to  keep  on  the  track  o'  them 
villain.-,  whether  it  be  for  love  or  money." 

u  You  may  depend  on  my  best  sarvices,"  said  Die- 
drich.  with  an  air  of  devotion. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Hannah.   "  I'm  glad  on't.     'Set  a 
thief  to  ketch  a  thief,'  is  an  old  sayin',  and  a  wise  one," 
she  further  muttered  ;  and  she  turned  over  on  her  pillov  . 
as  if  to  put  an  end  to   the  dialogue,  (jnite    nneon 
that  she  muttered  audibly. 

Stein    heard    and  winced   a   little,  but    a<    Margery  and 
Angie  were  at  too  great   a   distance  to  have  heard 
he  prudently  forboiv  taking  any  notice  of  the  insimiatio-!. 

"  If  you're  afraid  to  May  here  alone  to-night,"  In- 
continued,  still  feigning  the  part  of  a  protecting  friend. 
44  I'll  send  a  man  up  from  the  tavern." 


BATTLING    WITH    FATE.  177 

"A  man!  what  fur?"  exclaimed  Hannah.  u  Wr 
don't  want  no  man.  I  reckon  two  old  women,  without 
a  cent  in  the  world,  are  safe  enough.  I'd  like  to  know 
what  'arthly  use  a  man  'ud  be  ? " 

"  O,  you're  safe  enough,  I'll  venture  to  say,"  said 
Stein,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  room.  "  I  was  only 
thinking,"  he  went  on,  by  way  of  explanation  to  Angie, 
to  whom,  reentering  the  kitchen,  he  now  addressed  him 
self,  "  that  they  might  naturally  feel  a  little  lonely  and 
shaky-like  after  last  night ;  but  Mis'  Rawle's  got  uncom 
mon  stout  nerves,  so  between  'em  I  reckon  they'll  do, 
especially  with  such  excellent  neighbors  as  they  have  at 
hand,"  —  and  Stein,  dressed  now  in  his  mask  of  obsequi 
ousness,  bowed  and  took  his  hat.  Always  accustomed 
to  count  Margery  a  cipher,  he  would  not  probably  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  address  a  remark  to  her  at  leav 
ing  ;  but,  happening  to  bethink  himself  of  George,  he 
turned  just  as  he  reached  the  door,  to  say,  with  the 
tongue  that  knew  how  to  lash,  "  Margery,  it's  a  pity 
that  boy  of  yours  is  away  just  now.  It  looks  bad. 
Besides,  he  ought  not  to  lose  the  chance  to  be  of  use 
for  once  in  his  life.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Miss  Angie 
here,  I  don't  know  what  you'd  have  done  for  the  want 
of  him.  But,"  turning  to  Angie,  and  lapsing  into  his 
complimentary  vein,  "  one  steady  gal 's  worth  a  dozen 
wild  lads  any  day  ;  "  then,  in  an  insinuating  whisper,  — 
"  he  isn't  worthy  of  you,  Miss  Angie,  never  was  ;  but 
there's  a  fine  young  fellow,  of  a  considerable  higher 
figure  in  life,  that  '11  be  glad  enough  to  cut  him  out  in 


178  il  i  i    \  '/•/•  a    ///:  i  if  TS. 

the  good  graces  of  our  Nr\v  .Iar-ey  helle  that  we're-  all 
so  proud  of.  Y«»u  don't  need  me.  i  hough,  to  tell  you  of 
your  eniKjiieM-  in  that  quarter,  eh  !"  —  and  with  a  flourish 
oi'  the  hand  that  would  have  become  a  supernumerary  in 
a  low  comedy,  he  went  his  way  out  of  the  house,  chuck 
ling  at  his  own  skill  in  trimming  his  sails  accordi: 
the  wind  chanced  t«>  set.  and  attributing  Angie's  shame 
faced  looks  to  an  affectation  of  modesty. 

"Has  that  wolf  in  sheep's  clothin', —  that  brother  o' 
yourn,  —  gone,  Margery?"  called  Hannah,  the  moment 
she  heard  the  bang  of  the  outside  door. 

"Yes,"  wa-  tin-  humbly  spoken  monosyllable  in  which 
Margery  replied. 

"  Then  rake  up  the  fire  and  come  to  bed." 

Margery  looked  imploringly  at  Angic.  "  I'll  stay  and 
sleep  with  you,"  said  the  latter.  "  Never  mind  what  >he 
says;  we'll  bring  down  the  bed  from  —  from,"  —  she 
could  not  speak  his  name,  —  "  from  the  room  overhead, 
and  make  it  up  on  the  floor  ;  tell  her  so,  tell  her !  —  she's 
calling." 

Margery  crept  timidly  into  the  bed-room,  and,  with 
some  hesitation  and  difficulty,  made  known  Angie's  inten 
tion  to  spend  the  niirht  at  the  rot: 

"  What's  that  gal  here  agin  fur?"  wa-  tin-  exelamatioM 
that  next  reached  Angie's  ear.  u  Geordie  ain't  at  home 
to  be  bejuggled  by  her  tricks.  What  business  has  she  \»  \»- 
danvdin'  round  so?"  It  was  de.-irahle  to  have  Hannah's 
good  will,  since,  owing  to  her  deafness,  her  opinion  of 
people  was  seldom  disguised ;  and,  pretend  as  we  may  to 


BATTLING    WITH   FATE.  179 

the  contrary,  if  disagreeable  \hings  must  be  said  of  us, 
we  all  prefer  to  have  them  said  behind  our  backs. 

This  was  the  last  home-thrust,  however,  which  Angie 
was  to  experience  that  night.  As  Margery  did  not 
attempt  to  defend  her  young  neighbor's  forwardness, 
Hannah,  satisfied  with  having  given  vent  to  her  disgust 
at  the  intrusion,  lay  quite  still,  and  offered  no  further 
interference.  •  It  required  but  a  few  moments  to  carry 
out  Angie's  plan,  and  she  and  Margery  were  soon 
stretched  side  by  side  on  their  bed  upon  the  kitchen  floor. 
After  a  while  Hannah,  strong  and,  as  Stein  had  said, 
sound  of  nerve,  slept  as  she  meditated,  audibly.  The 
other  two  women  spoke  not,  moved  not,  scarcely  breathed, 
—  with  eyes  wide  open,  ears  strained,  limbs  rigid,  and 
hearts  throbbing  to  one  nameless  fear,  they  watched  and 
waited  until  the  morning,  each  hoping,  trusting  that  the 
other  slept,  and  thus  each,  for  the  first  time  since  the 
shock,  left,  as  it  were,  alone  with  her  anguish.  We 
may  not  lift  the  veil  which  night  had  in  mercy  drawn 
over  that  pair  of  broken  hearts. 


HA  I'  X  T  ED     II  L    i  A  1 


CHAPTER    XII.       . 

WEIGHING   THE    TESTIMONY. 

THE  murder  —  its  perpetrator  —  its  motive  —  its  man 
ner  of  execution  —  its  probable  consequences,  —  these,  of 
course,  constituted  tin-  nine  days'  wonder  of  Stem's  Plains 
and  the  neighboring  district.  Every  ascertained  detail  of 
the  affair,  every  reasonable  supposition,  every  absurd  cou- 
jecture,  was  discussed,  and  the  tavern  Mas  naturally  the 
nucleus  of  the  county  gossip,  —  tin-  < «  ntiv  where  rumor 
held  her  court,  and  whence  all  her  emissaries  radiated. 

Stein  was  iu  high  feather.  Never,  according  to  calcu 
lations  of  his  made  during  the  small  hours  of  the  night, 
when  there  was  a  temporary  lull  in  tin-  business,  had 
any  thing  brought  so  much  money  to  his  till  as  this  mur 
der.  The  Stein  races  were  the  product  of  his  fertile  brain, 
and  he  appreciated  the  jjvnius  which  had  fathered  and 
fostered  such  a  lucrative  institution  :  but  murder  was  the 
devil's  own  invention,  and  never  before  had  Stein  fully 
realized  the  allegiance  that  he  owe<l  to  the  Prince  of 
Darkness.  Whv.  thi-  OD6  murder  was  worth  t<>  Stein, 
in  hard  ca-h.  more  than  a  duzeii  horse-races,  more  than 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  Itfi 

twice  that  number  of  Christmas  balls,  more  than  the 
ordinary  profits  of  a  whole  year.  The  weather  on  the 
day  succeeding  the  catastrophe  was  indeed  unfavorable, 
for  the  air  was  sharp,  the  snow  deep,  the  roads  heavy  ; 
still,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  Sunday  and  Christmas, 
—  the  former  fact  giving  the  news  an  opportunity  to 
circulate  in  the  churches,  the  latter,  taken  in  connection 
with  the  cold,  making  it  reasonable  to  throng  the  public 
house,  and  indulge  in  a  holiday  drink,  flavored  with  "the 
latest  particulars.".  Then  the  coroner's  inquest,  which 
took  place  the  following  day,  was  a  fresh  excitement  for 
the  neighborhood,  and  a  rich  harvest  to  the  busy  publican 
who  dined  the  jurymen,  put  up  their  horses,  and  threw 
open  his  doors  to  the  thirsty  crowd.  Finally,  the  funeral, 
which  it  was  happily  decided  should,  as  a  matter  of  con 
venience,  take  place  at  the  tavern  rather  than  on  the 
mountain,  brought  half  the  inhabitants  of  the  county 
together,  and  might  justly  have  been  styled  "  The  land 
lord's  benefit." 

Taking  all  these  facts  into  account,  reflecting  on  the 
vigorous  constitution  Baultie  Rawle  had  possessed,  and 
the  risk  there  would  have  been  of  his  outliving  his 
brother-in-law,  or  making  some  capricious  disposition  of 
his  property,  Stein,  as  one  of  the  legal  heirs  (through 
his  wife,  who  was  nobody),  could  not  but  congratulate 
himself  that  the  loss  of  the  golden  guineas  on  the  night 
of  the  murder  was  more  than  balanced  by  the  timely 
death  of  the  old  man  and  the  singularly  felicitous  cir 
cumstances  attending  his  departure. 
16 


II     \    I        \     I     I     1>        II    I  •      I    l{    I     s. 


'Thai  Mriu  Ifai  .-ati-tied,  —  more  than  sati-lied,  —  with 
the  c'omprn.-atioii  thu-  made  to  him,  no  one  would  doubt 
who  could  jiave  seen  him  late  at  iii-hi,  di\e.-tcd  ot'  the 
tragic  mask,  —  worn  reli;rioii>ly  liy  day,  —  complacently 
reviewing  his  cash  account,  and  rubbing  his  liands  witli 
plee.  irveycd  tin-  sum  total  derived  from  one 

week's  custom. 

That  Stein  —  tlu-  covetous  Steiu  —  had  thus  mentally 
offset  his  fe0f(jM  by  his  gains,  was  proof  enough  ol  the 
hopelessness  of  the  former.  Stein  would  never  ha\e 
acknowledged  the  loss  of  any  thing,  much  less  submitted 
to  it,  except  as  compelled  by  necessity. 

But,  so  far  as  any  chance  of  recovering  the  guineas 
was  concerned,  the  sum  total  of  the  week's  revelations 
was  less  satisfactory  than  that  of  Stein's  gains.  The 
evidence  collected  previous  to  the  coroner's  inquest  re 
sulted  in  the  following  verdict,  namely,  — 

"  That  Baultie  Uawle  came  to  a  violent  death  on  the 
night  of  December  twenty-fourth,  1812,  owing  to  a  blow 
on  the  right  temple,  inflicted  by  a  portion  of  a  broken 
sleigh-runner,  through  the  agency  of  some  person  or  per 
sons  unknown." 

A  most  unsatisfactory  verdict  for  an  excited  commu 
nity  !  A  most  uiiLrratetul  one  on  the  part  of  the  coroner 
and  hi>  aid-.  ••on-idrriiiLT  the  travelling  expenses,  tin- 
dinner  at  Stein's,  the  rum  punch,  and  the  officer's  fees, 
all  at  the  county  expense. 

"  Wai,  I  do  vum  !  that's  all  they've  got  to  tell,  is  it? 
Any  fool  might  ha'  known  that  much  !"  cried  the  indig- 


WKTQHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  183 

nant  widow  of  the  murdered  man  on  receiving  the 
coroner's  report ;  and  in  this  she  only  represented  the 
sentiment  of  the  community,  who  had  labored*  under  the 
impression  that  twelve  jurymen,  imported  from  abroad, 
and  empowered  to  the  solemn  duty  of  sitting  on  a  body, 
must  necessarily  be  possessed  of  a  species  of  divination. 

The  facts  stated  in  the  verdict  were,  indeed,  meagre 
compared  with  the  rumors  which  were  in  circulation. 
They  were  unsatisfactory,  too,  compared  with  those  which 
skilful  detectives  might  reasonably  have  hoped  to  estab 
lish.  Up  to  a  certain  point  the  testimony  regarding  the 
crime  was  immediate  and  ample,  but  there  the  connect 
ing  thread  was  broken,  and  no  trace  of  it  could  be 
discovered. 

In  addition  to  the  evidence  afforded  by  the  impressions 
on  the  snow  and  within  the  house,  the  owner  of  the 
broken  sleigh  promptly  appeared  before  the  coroner's 
jury,  and  testified  to  that  portion  of  his  property  which 
had  been  converted  into  a  deadly  weapon.  This  indi 
vidual,  a  respectable  farmer  named  Boggs,  residing  be 
yond  Stein's  Plains,  on  the  high  road  to  New  York, 
further  related,  that  on  the  evening  previous  to  the 
murder  a  stranger  came  to  his  door  on  foot  from 
the  direction  of  the  city,  and  proposed  hiring  his  horse 
and  sleigh  for  the  purpose  of  continuing  his  journey 
to  a  town  beyond  the  plains,  whither,  he  said,  he  had 
been  summoned  to  visit  a  sick  relative.  In  answer  to 
the  objection  made  on  the  part  of  the  farmer,  that  his 
sleigh  had  been  weakened  the  previous  winter  by  a 


1»4  HA  r  .\  TLU   in:  i  i:  / 

|.;irti:il  fracture  of  one  of  the  runner-,  an<l  was  still 
Deeding  repair,  the  man  had  begged  to  examine  the 
vehicle,  and  hail  declared  it.  in  his  opinion,  sufficiently 
trustworthy  for  the  short  journey  he  had  in  view.  The 
tanner,  wlio  distrn-ted  the  man's  appearance,  had  then 
ar_Micd  that  his  horse  was  equally  incapacitated  lor 
travel  l»y  the  loss  of  one  of  his  shoes;  but  this  ol.jec- 
tion  had  also  been  overruled,  partly  by  the  assurance 
that  the  animal's  hoofs  would  not  suffer  from  his  being 
earet'ully  drheii  over  roads  bedded  with  i'resh  snow,  but 
still  more,  (as  the  farmer,  who  was  a  poor  man,  himself 
confessed),  by  the  offer  of  two  Spanish  dollars  on  tin- 
spot,  and  a  promise  that  horse  and  sleigh  >h<>nld  In- 
restored  before  noon  of  the  following  day.  On  these 
conditions,  he  had  himself  assisted  the  stranger,  who  had 
a  stiff  finger,  in  harnessing  the  old  farm  horse,  and  had 
seen  the  man  set  off  alone  in  the  di region  of  Stein's 
Plains. 

To  corroborate  this  account  and  strengthen  the  chain 
of  proof,  a  widow  woman,  living  in  a  solitary  cottage  on 
the  road  which  ran  over  the  mountain,  and  near  the  spot 
where  marks  on  the  snow  indicated  the  accident  to  the 
Bleigh,  le-tilied  to  the  following  tacts  :  — 

On  the  nielli  of  the  murder,  being  kept  awake  by  a 
sick  child.  >he  had  heen  startled.  tir.M.  l»y  In-arin.^  a  Lrrnl}' 
VOMN  outside,  apparently  addressed  to  a  horse,  ami  then. 
by  a  violent  knocking  at  her  door.  Upon  her  cautiously 
inqnirini:  from  her  window  a-  to  the  cause  of  the  di  — 
turbance,  the  owner  of  the  >ame  voice  called  out  loudly 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  185 

but  civilly  to  ask  if  she  could  furnish  him  with  a  rope 
with  which  to  repair  an  injury  to  his  sleigh.  He  was 
a  benighted  traveller,  he  said,  suffering  from  the  cold  and 
storm,  but  compelled  to  continue  his  journey  across  the 
mountain  with  as  much  speed  as  possible,  making  use  of 
the  same  plea  as  that  quoted  by  the  farmer,  a  summons  to 
the  bedside  of  somebody  who  was  ill.  At  first  she  thought 
she  should  be  obliged  to  deny  his  request,  not  being 
conscious  of  possessing  a  rope  in  the  world,  except  that 
which  corded  up  the  bedstead,  occupied  by  her  invalid 
boy.  But  the  boy,  who  had  heard  the  dialogue  and  com 
passionated  the  traveller,  happened  to  bethink  himself  of 
his  sled,  which  was  furnished  with  a  strong,  though 
knotted  cord,  by  means  of  which  it  was  suspended  to  the 
wall  of  a  shed  adjoining  the  house.  The  child  gener 
ously  offering  it  for  the  stranger's  use,  the  mother  admit 
ted  the  traveller,  led  the  way  to  the  outer  building  where 
the  sled  hung,  held  the  light  while  he  climbed  a  heap  of 
brush  and  took  it  down  from  the  nail,  and  herself  helped 
him  to  detach  the  rope.  She  remembered  this  latter 
circumstance  particularly,  because  the  man  had  a  sore 
finger,  bound  up  with  a  bit  of  rag,  which  made  him,  as 
she  said,  "  kind  o'  awkard  and  clumsy  like."  Imme 
diately  upon  obtaining  what  he  had  come  to  seek,  the 
man  hurried  off.  She  could  distinguish  his  voice  for 
a  moment  or  two,  uttering  oaths,  which  so  alarmed  her, 
she  said,  that  she  was  glad  when,  through  the  darkness, 
she  saw  the  vehicle  move  off,  after  which  all  was  silence, 
nor,  though  kept  awake  during  the  greater  part  of  the  night 
16* 


//  i  .     \   /  /   i>    II  f  i  !:  . 

hv  her  child,  diil  she  hear  the  -leiirh  <>n  it>  iviiiru.  It 
miirht  ea.-ily  have  passed  down  tin-  mountain,  however, 
nnob-erved  l.y  her,  as  the  snow  was,  by  this  time,  deep 
on  the  Around,  and  she  was  confident  tliat  there  \\ere  no 
>lei-h-hell>  attaehed  to  the  hor.-e, —  a  point  on  wliicli  her 
evidenee  tailed  to  e.  .nv>pond  with  that  ot'  Farmer  1  '< 
who  had  him.-elf.  he  said,  hunt:  a  eliain  of  hells  around 
his  horse's  neck.  From  first  to  last  her  impression  had 
been  that  her  vi.-itur  was  a  solitary  traveller;  she  had 
heard  no  voice  but  his,  and  had  no  reason  to  suspeet  hi> 
having  a  companion. 

When  questioned  whether  she  could  identify  the  rope, 
she  answered  promptly  in  the  atlirmative,  upon  which 
the  coroner,  who  was  no  such  fool  alter  all,  ordered  a 
bu.-lnd-ha.-ket  full  of  ropes  to  be  produced,  of  various 
sizes  and  descriptions.  Without  hesitation  the  woman 
-eleetrd  the  very  piece  of  rope  with  which  an  attempt 
had  evidently  been  made  to  bind  Banltie  IJawle.  The 
child,  who  had  now  recovered  from  his  illness,  being 
summoned  and  subjected  to  the  same  ordeal,  at  once 
.-ei/ed  upon  the  same  tangled  and  knotted  piece  of  prop 
erty,  and  with  dreams  of  coasting  in  his  little  brain, 
insisted  upon  retaining  it,  crying  Instily  when  thi>  valu 
able  link  in  ihe  chain  of  evidence  was  taken  from  him  by 
the  coroner's  order,  nothing  daunted  by  hi-  mother's  hor- 
rilied  warning,  u  Don't  touch  the  bloody  thing,  Joey! 
ban-in'  the  varmint  is  all  it's  fit  fur  now:"  ami  only 
consoled  by  a  silver  shilling,  which  Van  Ilausen  slipped 
into  his  hand. 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  187 

What  could  be  more  clear  than  the  evidence  of  such 
unsophisticated  witnesses.  It  only  remained  now  to 
overtake,  identify,  and  hang  the  murderer, —  processes 
which  seemed  so  feasible  under  the  promising  state  of 
the  case  that  the  more  ardent  portion  of  the  community 
began  almost  to  speculate  whether  the  character  of  this 
domestic  tragedy  were  not  such  as  to  justify  Lynch  law 
and  immediate  execution. 

Great,  therefore,  was  the  disposition  to  charge  the  cor 
oner  with  lukewarmness  when  he  gravely  alluded  to  the 
mystery  which  still  overhung  the  case ;  and  distrust, 
amounting  to  suspicion  of  connivance  at  crime  at  once 
attached  itself  to  a  city  constable,  who,  as  he  stalked 
among  the  rustic  crowd,  was  heard  to  say,  "Pshaw! 
your  evidence  ain't  worth  that "  —  snapping  his  fingers 
contemptuously  in  the  air. 

It  was  only  when  time  had  cooled  their  ardor,  and 
successive  disappointments  checked  their  zeal,  that  the 
people  of  Stein's  Plains  could  be  brought  to  acknowledge 
what  was  palpable  to  less  unsophisticated  minds,  namely, 
that,  clear  as  might  be  the  track  of  Farmer  Boggs's 
sleigh,  it  availed  nothing,  unless,  being  followed  up,  it 
led  to  some  further  discovery  ;  and  that,  although  Farmer 
Boggs  and  the  widow  might  be  haunted  to  their  dying 
day  with  the  certainty  of  having  seen  a  murderer  face  to 
face,  their  conviction  on  this  point  was  of  no  benefit  to 
society  unless  it  could  be  instrumental  in  bringing  the 
criminal  to  justice  :  and  on  both  these  points  the  evidence 
was  greatly  at  fault. 


IMS  a  A  i    N  /  i  i>    n  i '  \  H  : 

The  trail  of  the  broken  sleigh-runner,  after 
traced  !'«•!•  BOHM  mill's,  irradually  melted  into  those  of  the 
numerous  vehicle-  which.  by  daylijit.  were  iiio\in;r  in  the 
direction  nt'  New  York.  Kveii  at  tin-  ferry,  when-  it  was 
hoped  a  door  mi^lit  have  been  left  open  for  detection,  due 
Jin-caution  had  been  observed,  tor  a  little  short  of  this 
point  the  sleigh  had  been  deserted  of  its  occupant,  who 
had  doubtless  thence  made  his  way  to  New  York  on  foot, 
and  without  exciting  observation.  Even  these  facts  did 
not  come  to  liirht  immediately  ;  but  at  length  a  public 
notice  being  served  that  a  horse  without  a  shoe,  and  at 
tached  to  a  broken  sleigh,  had  strayed  into  Hoboken, 
where  both  might  be  found  at  a  locality  named  in  the 
advertisement,  and  restored  to  the  owner  on  payment  of 
charges,  Farmer  Boggs,  accompanied  by  a  constable  of 
the  district,  and  attended  by  a  little  throng  of  satellite-. 
hastened  to  the  place  indicated,  recognized  and  reclaimed 
his  property.  The  old  horse  proved  to  be  in  an  exhausted 
condition,  as  if  abused  and  over-driven  ;  his  broken  shoe 
was  dangling  from  his  hoof,  and  its  sharp  edge,  by  con 
tinually  galling  the  opposite  leg,  had  caused  such  a  bruise, 
and  consequent  swelling,  that  the  poor  brute  limped  in  a 
pitiable  manner.  The  injury  to  the  -leijh  proved,  to  tin- 
great  satisfaction  of  a  gaping  crowd,  exactly  to  corre 
spond  with  the  breakage  indicated  by  the  fractional  part 
of  the  runner  found  in  Baultie  Rawle's  cottage,  with  the 
additional  circumstance  that  e\ery  part  of  the  vehicle 
-haltered  and  strained,  a-  mii_rht  have  been  antici 
pated,  from  the  hard  u.-a-e  to  which  it  had  been  subjected 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  189 

in  its  maimed  condition.  Except  that  the  sleigh-bells 
were  found  carefully  stowed  away  under  the  seat,  there 
was  nothing  further  to  indicate  the  purpose  to  which  it 
had  recently  been  applied,  the  character  of  its  occupant, 
nor  the  quarter  in  which  he  had  taken  refuge.  If,  how 
ever,  the  witnesses  could  furnish  a  life-like  description  of 
the  individual  who  was  known  to  have  been  abroad  on 
the  night  of  the  catastrophe,  he  might  yet,  it  was 
believed,  be  traced,  detected,  and  brought  to  trial.  But 
when  these  witnesses  were  required  to  furnish  a  portrait 
of  the  man,  their  testimony  was  chiefly  remarkable  for 
its  discrepancy.  Not  that  their  accounts  were  so  contra 
dictory  as  to  create  doubts  regarding  the  identity  of  the 
person  who  had  hired  the  farmer's  sleigh  with  him  who 
had  paid  the  widow  a  midnight  visit.  On  the  contrary, 
there  were  a  few  points  on  which  they  were  sufficiently 
well  agreed  to  establish  this  fact  —  his  gruff  voice,  his 
profanity,  pertinacity,  and  his  finger  bent  nearly  double, 
and  protected  by  a  dirty  rag,  —  the  third  finger  of  the 
right  hand,  —  sworn  to  with  exactness  by  both  parties. 
But  when  it  was  proposed  to  placard  a  description  of  his 
person,  the  witnesses  were  sadly  at  variance.  Let  any 
two  persons  —  excitement  apart  —  undertake  to  furnish 
the  details  of  a  man's  personal  appearance,  and  there  is 
generally  but  little  harmony  in  the  coloring.  It  was  un 
fortunate,  then,  but  scarcely  strange,  that  the  more  the 
witnesses  strove  to  be  graphic,  the  more  blurred  and  con 
fused  was  the  sketch  they  mutually  drew. 

The  one  thought  him   dark-complexioned ;  the   other 


190  HAUNTEDHEARTS. 

light.  One  pronounced  him  long-favored;  the  other 
declared  his  face  to  have  been  round  and  ruddy.  "  He 
•was  about  as  tall  as  So-and-so,"  was  the  impression  of 
one.  fci  No  ;  taller  by  half. a  head,"  was  the  conviction 
of  the  other.  And  as  each  illu.M  rated  his  or  her  recol 
lections  hy  comparison  with  one  or  another  of  their 
neighbors,  they  contrived,  between  them,  to  draw  a  pic 
ture  of  a  most  motley  man.  Farmer  Boggs  had  thought 
liim  ill-favored  in  tlie  beginning,  but  conciliated  hen. re 
the  clo.se  of  the  interview  (doubtless  by  means  of  the 
two  dollars),  had  ended  in  retracting  his  first  judgment. 
and  trusting  to  the  man's  honest  countenance.  The 
widow,  on  the  other  hand,  had  evidently  mi-taken  him 
at  first  for  a  benevolent  individual.  pos>ihlv  a  ]>h\>ician. 
on  his  wav.  a-  he  a--nred  her,  to  vi>it  the  sick.  Doubts 
on  this  point  had  probably  arisen  in  her  mind  when  she 
overheard  his  profane  abuse  of  his  horse  ;  but  the  horror 
of  his  ferocious  countenance  which  she  professed  on 
examination,  must  have  been  the  aftergrowth  of  her 
imagination. 

Little  .Joey  had  his  word.  too.  in  regard  to  the  identi 
fication  of  the  Mrairjvr  —  a  circum-tance  which  did  not 
help  to  clear  nj>  the  myMery.  ,-ince  lie  iu-iMed  that  the 
vi-itor.  whom  he  had  seen  Mridiui:  through  his  wick  room 
at  midniirht.  bore  a  close  n  semblance  to  good  old 
Dominie  Van  Xandt,  the  only  other  person  among  Joey's 
acquaintance  of  whom  the  boy  Mood  in  awe. 

Of  cour-e  every  word  that  dp'j'j-ed  from  the  mouths 
of  these  three,  personage-,  elexated  a-  they  were  into 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  191 

sudden  importance,  went  the  rounds  of  the  parish,  and 
gave  rise  to  all  sorts  of  surmises. 

One  man  would  not  have  wished  to  be  pointed  out  like 
Sam  the  butcher,  as  being  just  the  height  of  the  mur 
derer  ;  another  was  glad  he  had  not  Joel  Beck's  round 
ruddy  face,  for  that  would  be  suspected  next ;  one  old 
woman  shook  her  head,  and  thought  all  the  doctors  round 
had  better  be  looking  out ;  and  another  whispered  to  a 
crony  of  hers,  in  the  church  porch,  on  Sunday  after 
the  sermon,  that  the  dominie  did  have  a  threatening 
look  in  his  face  when  he  preached  hard  doctrine,  and 
laid  down  his  finger  in  a  terrible  way  when  he  meant 
something  should  strike  home.  If  she  hadn't  always 
supposed  he  was  such  a  good  man,  she  should  think 
he  was  one  of  the  sort  that  might  do  any  thing  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to. 

As  to  the  sore  finger,  the  most  telling  and  tallying 
point  in  the  evidence,  that  was  dwelt  upon  at  great 
length  in  the  parish.  Every  body's  brains  were  racked 
to  recall  every  body's  else  ailments  in  that  quarter. 
Several  persons  were  named  who  had  suffered  from 
whitlows  and  chilblains  ;  but  it  was  in  every  instance 
called  to  mind  that  they  had  been  healed  for  a  year 
or  more.  The  blacksmith's  clumsy  apprentice,  who 
was  jamming  and  bruising  his  fingers  daily,  was  sud 
denly  brought  into  prominent  notice,  and  the  question 
was  mooted  whether  the  boy,  generally  considered 
underwitted,  might  not  have  disguised  himself,  and 
taken  part  in  the  tragedy ;  but  an  alibi  being  at  once 


I  f»L>  HA  T  \  I  I  I>    HEARTS. 

proved    by  the   lad's  friends,   he  was   acquitted    trium 
phantly. 

Only  one  eye  in  the  parish  had  prescience  of  a 
wounded  finder,  bound  with  a  dirty  ra^r.  which  crim 
inated  its  owner.  Only  one  ear  that  heard  the  report 
of  the  solitary  fact  on  which  the  witnesses  were  nun •« -d. 
was  struck  with  a  truth  that  carried  with  it  instant  con \  ic- 
tion.  But  An^ric  had  t'dt  the  truth  hct'niv.  To  know 
it  now  was  but  to  make  "  assurance  doubly  sure."  And 
slu-  kept  her  own  counsel. 

The  city  detectives,  relying  little  on  the  inconsistent 
evidence  afforded  by  rustic  testimony,  still  hoped  to 
trace  the  villains  by  means  of  the  golden  guinea-,  the 
.silver  coin,  or  the  notes  and  other  paper.-,  the  property 
of  Baultie  Rawle,  which  had  been  rilled  from  the  money 
box.  But  their  early  and  active  efforts  to  win  the  n  - 
ward,  promised  by  the  heirs  for  the  recovery  of  the 
valuables,  were  unavailing :  and  as  there  was  every 
reason  to  believe  that  these  efforts  would  relax  in  pro 
portion  as  time  diminished  the  chances  of  success,  the 
prospect  of  the  villain's  detection  grew  daily  more  dis 
couraging. 

It  was  the  general  opinion,  judging  from  the  te-ti- 
mony  of  the  witnesses,  and  the  identity  of  the  footprints 
left  in  the  snow,  that  there  had  been  but  one  agent  in 
the  murder;  and  this  in  spite  of  (lie  protc.-iatio: 
Hannah  Rawle,  \\ho  per-i-ted  that  tin-re  were  two  or 
more  men  onjra.crod  in  the  stniirprle.  "  Don't  they  s'pose. 
the  fools,  that  if  there  hadn't  been  more  'n  one,  me  an' 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  193 

my  old  man  could  ha'  handled  him  ?  "  was  Hannah's 
spirited  refutation  of  the  possibility  suggested  by  those 
who  had  weighed  the  evidence,  and  decided  adversely 
to  her  in  the  matter.  Nobody  could  positively  contradict 
her  on  this  point.  Indeed,  in  her  presence  nobody  dared 
to,  for  nothing  so  kindled  her  temper,  or  excited  her 
animosity ;  but  the  very  individual,  who  had  apparently 
been  convinced  by  her  argument,  would  shake  his  head 
when  out  of  her  sight,  and  say,  u  The  old  hen's  crop  is 
full  o'  grit,  but  one  strong  man  could  ha'  settled  that 
tough  pair  of  fowls  easy  enough,  catchin'  'em  as  he  did 
arter  they  'd  gone  to  roost.  Why,  the  wretch  tied  the 
old  man  fust,  you  see,  and  it  was  easy  enough  then  to 
silence  him,  and  send  the  old  wife  flyin'.  It  Avas  the 
blackest  kind  o'  darkness,  and  she  deaf  as  a  post.  What 
does  she  know  how  many  hawks  pounced  on  her  nest. 
One  could  break  it  up  as  well  as  a  dozen !  " 

The  fact  that  Stein's  Tavern  and  the  Christmas  races 
brought  many  a  foul  bird  of  prey  into  the  neighborhood 
at  this  season,  left  a  wide  field  open  for  speculation.  Let 
the  country  people  discuss  the  question  as  they  might 
among  themselves,  and  cast  trembling  glances  at  one 
another ;  let  them  indulge  in  vain  surmises  concerning 
respectable  individuals,  or  hint  vaguely  at  the  war  with 
Great  Britain,  as  the  exciting  cause  of  this  act  of  vio 
lence,  the  burden  of  suspicion  always  rested  finally  on  the 
crowd  of  gamblers,  horse-jockeys,  and  thieves,  which  it 
was  well-known  that  the  city  belched  forth  on  occasion 
of  festivities  at  the  tavern.  These  men  were  but  little 
17 


194  HAUNTKD    ,11.. I. 

known  to  tin-  ru-tic-.  Herding  as  they  did  to-ether, 
they  seldom,  save  in  shiLrle  instances,  and  for  tempo 
rary  purposes,  held  any  communication  \\ith  the  niem- 
bers  of  the  rural  community,  except  in  tin-  ca-e  of  young 
men.  \vlio,  like  (ie.u-die.  had  u  lior-e  mi  tin-  course,  and 
then  the  intern »ur-c  mvw  -<»  naturally  out  of  circura- 
-tances  that  it  tailed  to  attract  special  attention.  Indeed. 
the  people  of  the  plains,  so  tar  from  r-eeking  to  avoid 
the  imputation  of  having  any  knowledge  of  these  citv 
jail-birds,  as  they  now  thought  proper  to  term  them,  liad 
i-arh  some  special  rogue,  swindler,  horse-jockey,  or  passer 
of  counterfeit  money,  whom  I.,-  dcdan-d  ht-  km-w  root 
and  branch,  knew  to  his  sorrow,  and  whom  In-  would  In- 
^rlad  to  see  swing  for  this  olK-ncc.  On  the  whol<-.  tin- 
fell  into  greater  disrepute  than  ever,  and  Mi -in. 
although  in>innatinir  Iiis  donlits  wlu-thrr  tlu-  DMM)  or 
ilu-ir  t'rtMjnnitfr-.  had  any  thin^  to  answer  for  in  re 
spect  to  the  murder,  professed  himself  MftitAfc]  that  limits 
must  be  put  to  the  popularity  of  his  house,  and  that 
its  reputation  being  well-established,  it  would  be  politic 
in  him  to  raise  his  charge > .  and  thin  make  it  more 
select. 

Once,  indeed,  Stein  made  an  endeavor  to  clear  his 
premises  from  suspicion,  and  implicate  one  otherwise 
uuthought  of  and  unnamed  in  such  a  connection.  Of 
all  the  persons  who  had  witnessed  the  stormy  inter 
view  between  Gcorp-  and  lianltie  Kawlc,  Stein  \\  a-  th< 
only  one  both  able  and  dispos«-«l  to  irivo  evidence.  K\en 
he  so  realized  the  terrible  nature  of  the  charge,  and  th»' 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  195 

obloquy  to  which  it  might  expose  him,  that  he  began  by 
breaking  the  matter  cautiously  to  Van  Hausen,  —  and 
here  he  ended.  "  Say  that  agin,"  cried  Van  Hausen, 
"  and  I'll  knock  every  one  of  yer  teeth  down  yer  throat 
fur  yer,  you  black  villain,  you ! "  shaking  his  fist  at 
the  landlord,  who,  physically  an  arrant  coward,  was 
already  quaking  and  repentant.  "  Accuse  yer  own 
nephew  of  a  crime  like  that?  Look  at  home  fur  crimes 
I  tell  yer  !  "  and  the  whole  current  of  Van  Hausen's 
wrath  let  loose,  he  now  poured  out  upon  the  sneaking 
wretch  such  a  stream  of  accusations  and  threats  as 
effectually  warned  Stein  of  his  own  damaged  character, 
and  the  certainty  of  a  merciless  rooting  up  of  much  that 
would  not  bear  the  light ;  possibly,  a  retaliatory  charge 
on  the  matter  of  the  murder  itself,  should  he  ever  again 
dare  to  whisper  his  innuendoes  concerning  George  to 
any  human  ear ;  and  Stein  knew  Van  Hausen  and  his 
own  interests  too  well  ever  to  repeat  the  experiment. 

As  time  passed  on,  and  the  surmises  which  had  been 
raised  concerning  an  event  that  had  startled  the  neigh 
borhood  acquired  a  more  vague,  hopeless,  and  indefinite 
character,  the  Rawle  tragedy  came  to  be  thought  of  less 
as  a  murder  than  a  mystery.  Had  the  perpetrator  been 
discovered,  and  atonement  made,  the  ghost  of  the  mur 
dered  Baultie  might  have  been  laid  to  rest,  and  visions  of 
cruel  men,  holding  up  fingers  bound  with  bloody  rags, 
might  have  ceased  to  haunt  the  imaginations  of  the 
neighbors.  As  it  was,  the  subject,  though  no  longer 
of  engrossing  interest,  was  never  wholly  exhausted.  It 


196  a  \  r\ 

invariably  rose  as  the  shadows  of  night  fell.  Groups 
«t  men  rehearsed  it  on  stormy  evenings  in  the  t;i\«  in 
bar-mom;  women,  with  their  ln-;nl-  close  together,  whis- 
j nil  its  grim  details  to  one  another  at  the  fireside; 
rhildmi  tivmbled  in  their  beds,  and  heard  strange 
noises  in  the  dark  ;  and  as  the  chill  wintry  wind  swept 
from  the  mountain  across  the  plains,  old  and  young  shiv 
ered  and  shuddered  as  they  remembered  Baultie  Rawle. 


POLLY  DEFIANT   AND   POLLY   SUBDUED.      197 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

POLLY  DEFIANT  AND  POLLY  SUBDUED. 

THE  second  day  after  the  murder  of  Baultie  Rawle, 
his  niece,  Polly  Stein,  came  to  see  her  aunt  Hannah,  — 
not  of  her  own  accord,  but  sent  by  Stein,  who,  like  most 
selfish  men,  loved  his  own  children,  and  never  failed  to 
push  them  on  towards  what  he  considered  their  advan 
tage.  So,  having  paid  a  visit  of  etiquette  himself,  he 
now  despatched  Polly  on  a  similar  errand.  He  would 
have  done  much  better  to  keep  her  at  home,  for  it  was 
by  no  means  an  occasion  on  which  she  was  calculated  to 
shine.  With  sensibilities  and  nerves  alike  unmoved  by 
the  death  of  her  stern  old  uncle,  the  reluctance  with 
which  she  paid  the  visit  was  only  equalled  by  the  unbe- 
comingness  of  her  behavior.  She  swung  into  the  house 
abruptly,  and,  with  a  noisy  flourish,  slammed  the  back 
door,  by  which  she  had  entered,  then  spying  Angie  at 
the  pantry  cupboard,  engaged  in  skimming  a  pan  of  milk, 
she  wholly  neglected,  or  forgot  the  original  object  of  her 
visit,  and  planting  herself  at  Angie's  elbow,  began  to 
watch,  question,  and  tease  her. 
17* 


••  Law.  Angie  Con-in,  you  here?  They've  set  yon  to 
work,  too,  huviMi't  they?  .My  !  I  wouldn't  work  when  I 
was  visiting;  it's  bad  enough  to  have  to  work  at  home. 
'Taint  much  Inn  staying  here  though,  any  way.  i-  it  .' 
especially  when  Geordic  is  off  tin-  hooks?  They  say  you 
and  he  have  had  a  fu>-.  T  s'pose  he's  kind  o'  touchy  about 
the  cap'n's  having  turned  your  head  so.  I  declare, 
though,  ain't  the  cap'n  a  smasher?-  My !  how  I  do  miss 
him!" 

••  AY  hen;  is  lu«?"  asked  Angie,  with  undisguised  indif 
ference. 

44  O,  as  if  you  didn't  know  or  care  !  "  cried  Polly,  with 
a  loud,  incredulous  laugh." 

44 1  don't." 

44  Then  s'pose  I  don't  tell  you  ?  " 

44  Ju-t  fcfc  you  like." 

Upon  this  Polly  feigned  to  make  a  great  secret  of  tin- 
matter  :  but  alter  taking  innumerable  airs,  and  twitting 
Angie  a  while  with  her  saucy  tongue,  she  could  not  n-i-t 
the  desire  to  display  her  own  superior  knowledge  of  the 
captain's  movement-,  and  so  it  came  out  at  length  that 
he  had  gone,  on  the  morning  of  Sunday  ( ( 'hri-t  ma-  day), 
to  the  city,  where  he  w:i>  engaged  (a-  lie  had  himself 
told  Polly)  to  a  irrand  dinner-part v.  at  a  line  house  on 
the  Battery.  —  the  owner  being  an  old  Lfentleman  of  torv 
prejudices,  and  a  friend  of  some  connection  of  the  cap 
tain's  in  London. 


44  O,  the  eajMi  keeps  n-nmd  company.   I   can  te 
concluded    Pollv.   to.-HUg  her  head   complaeentlv. 


YOU  . 


POLLY  DEFIANT  AND    POLLY  SUBDUED.     199 

-'  That  don't  promise  very  well  for  his  country  acquaint 
ances,"  remarked  Angie,  dryly. 

"  O,  you  think  so,  do  you?"  responded  Polly,  with  a 
confident,  cackling  laugh.  "  I  reckon  it's  first-rate  for 
them  that  has  a  chance  to  be  introduced  to  the  city  folks 
one  o'  these  days." 

Angie's  astonishment,  not  to  say  disgust,  at  this 
remark,  was  such  that  she  ceased  skimming  the  milk, 
—  a  process  which  Polly's  entrance  and  conversation  had 
marred,  but  not  hitherto  interrupted,  —  and  turning  her 
head,  gave  Polly  an  earnest  look,  as  if  she  were  scruti 
nizing  her  thoughts.  "You  expect  him  back,  then?" 
she  said,  gravely,  as  she  turned  away.  "  I  should  rather 
think  I  did,"  said  Polly.  "  I  guess  he  won't  go  off  for 
good  and  all,  without  bidding  me  good  by,  however  he 
may  do  with  other  folks," —  and  Polly's  shrill  laugh  now 
was  full  of  triumph,  as  if  she  were  gloating  over  a  store 
of  reserved  hopes  —  very  pleasant  to  dwell  upon,  but  too 
secret  to  be  confided  to  any  one. 

A  voice  from  the  kitchen  here  called  out,  "  Polly ! 
Polly  Stein  !  "  is  that  'ere  you  I  hear  laughin'  ?  " 

Polly,  checking  her  laughter  as  suddenly  as  if  she  had 
been  strangled,  now  whispered  to  Angie  in  a  frightened 
tone,  "  Is  aunt  Hannah  in  there?  Is  she  sitting  up  and 
dressed?  Has  she  heard  me,  do  you  s'pose?" 

"  She's  up,"  replied  Angie,  "  and  sitting  by  the  kitchen 
fire.  Yes,  she's  heard  you ;  she's  calling  your  name 
(for  Hannah  was  still  calling,  and  calling  angrily). 

Polly,  ashamed  to  show  herself,  but  afraid  to  hold 
back  any  longer,  now  sneaked  in  at  the  kitchen  door. 


200  HA  T.V  TKlt    UK  A  H  I    - 

"  \\ \\i\\  are  you  doin'  here,  inakin'  >ueh  an  uproar?" 
was  Hannah'-  salutation  to  her  nieee.  M  You  imiM  he 
feelin'  lively,  when  you  i-au'i  keep  your  silly  cacklin'  from 
startlin'  my  old  ears." 

44  I  didn't  conn-  to  j.l< -a-.-  mv~elf. —  father  sent  me," 
irai  tin-  pert  reply. 

••  Wai.  you'd  ha'  been  wi-er  to  stay  away  from  the 
house  o'  mournin',  if  you  don't  kumv  any  better  how  to 
behuvo  in  it." 

Polly  here  resorted  to  biting  li«-r  lin^-r-nail  and  looking 
sulky. 

"  How's  your  mother?  She's  mon-  likely  tlian  any  on 
you  to  be  consarned  about  what's  happened  to  your  uncle 
Baultie  ;  why  don't  she  come  and  see  me?" 

••She's  awful  busy;  she's  over  head  and  ears  in 
work." 

M  Why  ain't  you  helpin'  her,  then?" 

u  I've  been  standing  round  all  the  morning ;  I'm 
tired  ;  "  and  Polly  sank  heavily  into  a  chair. 

41  O,  young  folks  is  easy  tired  nowadays.  In  my  time 
the  gal-  worked  all  day,  and  the  mothers  took  a  spell  o' 
rest  once  in  a  while.  I'll  warrant  you'll  never  make 
yer  mother's  plaee  Lr'><Ml." 

"I   never   mean   to   sla\e    my.-elf  to   death    in  a  I 
kitchen,"  responded  Polly,  in  a  saucy,  presuming  tone. 
"  I   wouldn't  be  mi-tiv--  oft  tavern,  any  < 

44  Take  care  you  never  i'all  l><-lo\v  that  'ere,  or  any  other 
honest  business". <aid  Hannah  Uawle,  rej»rovin^ly.  "I'll 
promise  yer  \er'll  iu-\er  ri>e  any  higher  than  your 


WEIGHING    THE    TESTIMONY.  201 

mother  ;  "  then  added,  in  that  undertone  of  hers,  which 
was,  as  usual,  perfectly  intelligible  to  the  hearer,  "she's 
wuth  a  dozen  on  yer  any  day,  —  yer  lazy  jade  !  " 

Polly  answered « only  by  cocking  her  head  on  one  side, 
curling  her  thin  lip  defiantly,  and  giving  the  floor  a  suc 
cession  of  complacent  taps  with  her  foot. 

Hannah,  to  whom  Polly's  impudence  was  only  less 
distasteful  than  her  father's  hypocrisy,  and  who,  in  her 
present  mood,  was  more  than  ordinarily  incensed  at  the 
girl,  now  manifested  her  rising  wrath  in  the  exclamation, 
"  I  should  like  ter  know  what's  sot  you  on  the  high 
ropes  so  to-day  !  Is  it  because  they've  killed  your  uncle 
Baultie,  and  you  s'pose  your  folks  is  comin'  in  for  a  share 
of  his  money,  or  is  it  because  you've  got  the  coroner  and 
his  men  down  ter  your  house,  and  you  think  that's  lively 
and  entertainin'  ?  " 

"  There  ain't  much  fun  in  hearing  about  nothing  but 
murders,  and  inquests,  and  funerals,"  said  Polly,  "  if 
they  do  bring  a  run  o'  custom,  as  father  says.  I'm 
sure  I  should  die  o'  the  dumps  if  I  hadn't  something 
pleasanter  to  think  of." 

"  A  run  o'  custom  !  O,  that's  your  father's  view  on't, 
is  it?  —  and  yourn's  to  get  rid  o'  trouble  of  all  sorts,  by 
shuttin'  your  eyes  and  hardenin'  your  heart.  Wai,  '  chil- 
dern  an'  fools  speak  truth,'  an'  I  believe  yer." 

"  I  don't  see  any  use,"  said  Polly,  apologetically,  "  in 
making  yourself  miserable  about  other  folks'  misfortunes. 
It's  time  enough  when  your  own  come." 

"  An'    come  they  will  fast  enough,  yer  may  depend 


I'li-j  //  .1  r  \   /  /  //    H  i    \  i;  rs. 

on  "t."  retorted  Hannah,  in  a  tone  of  prophetic  waniinir. 
**  You  mark  my  word-.  1'olly  Stein.  Tin-  Lord  -ends  his 
di.-peii-ations.  fu-t  in  marcy  and  tlu-n  in  wrath  ;  them 
that  takes  hmnr  the  fu-t.  and  profits  hy  'em.  is  .-omctimes 
spared  the  last,  hut  if  his  children  iir«  deaf  to  the  storm, 
he  send-  the  thunder-holt.  Such  things  as  has  heen  hap- 
penin'  in  this  'ere  neighborhood  the  last  day  or  two  miirh! 
sober  them  that's  older  in  sin  than  you've  had  time  fur 
yet  (your  whinin'  old  father  for  one,"  —  this  in  the  audi 
ble  undertone),  "but  since  you  don't  choose  to  1:0  .-ha re 
in  others'  sorrers,  he'll  send  you  some  on  your  own  ac 
count,  I'll  promise  ; 

Polly  received  this  rehnke  in  silence.  Her  aunt  was 
excited,  the  rude  girl  her-elf  a  little  awod  hy  the  -oleum 
vehemence  of  the  threat.  It  wa-  during  the  pan<e  that 
succeeded,  when  Hannah  wa-  leaning  hack  in  her  chair 
with  a  red  -pot  flti-hinir  each  cheek,  and  1'olly  wa<  .-tar 
ing  Stupidly  on  the  floor,  that  Anirie  came  in  from  the 
pantry.  She  wore  her  hood  and  shawl,  and  brought  the 
tea-kettlo  in  her  hand. 

"Where  are  you  Lr<»in'?"  asked  Hannah.  Lrlad  to  avoid 
further  words  with  1'olly.  by  addiv— i!r_r  somebody  else. 

••  Home,  for  a  little  while.      \Yill  you   plea-e.  ma'am. 
tell  Mr.-.   Uawle"  (  Mar-j-i-ry  wasup  stairs,  whither,  seeing 
Polly  aj.proarh.  .-he  had  In-taken  her--||').  "  that    I'll  com.- 
back  to-niLrht    and    sh-rp?      I'\e  tilled   the   tea-kettle, 
added,  a-  -In-  -looped  and  hnn_r  it  over  the  tire. 

"  ^'ou'\e  no  need  to  come  back."  -aid  Hannah,  -harplv  : 
then,  -ofteninir  a  little  from  the  hard  tone  lo  \\liieh  her 


WEIGHING     THE     TESTIMONY.  203 

voice  had  been  pitched  ever  since  Polly's  entrance,  she 
added,  "  you  may,  though,  if  you've  a  mind  ter.  You 
'don't  come  fur  iiothin' ;  you  hain't  got  a  lazy  bone  in  yer 
body  —  I  see  that  plain  enough."  And  as  Angie  com 
pleted  her  arrangements  at  the  fireplace,  and  quickly 
and  capably  swept  up  the  hearth,  the  eyes  of  the  observ 
ing  old  woman  rested  on  her  complacently. 

"  I'll  go  at  the  same  time,"  said  Polly,  starting  eagerly 
as  Angie  moved  towards  the  door. 

"You'd  better  stay  a  while  in  my  place,"  suggested 
Angie,  with  an  endeavor  to  evade  her  company. 

"Take  her  'long  with  you,  for  goodness'  sake,"  inter 
posed  Hannah,  who  detected  the  hesitation  on  Angie's 
part. 

The  matter  was  no  longer  optional  with  Angie,  how 
ever  ;  Polly  had  already  darted  through  the  doorway, 
and  was  the  first  outside. 

Gracious  !  how  glad  I  am  to  get  away  ! "  was  her  ex 
clamation,  before  Angie  had  closed  the  door  behind  them. 
"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  bear  to  stay  there,  Angie  ;  I 
wouldn't  be  hired  to.  Law  !  aunt  Hannah  snapped  me 
up  so,  every  word  I  said  —  you've  no  idea  —  ugh  !  don't 
I  hate  her  !  " 

"  She's  had  a  dreadful  stroke.  It  makes  her  keen  and 
cross,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Angie. 

"  Pooh  !  she's  always  cross,  fur  's  I  see,"  said  Polly. 

"  Good  by ;  I'm  going  across  the  fields,"  said  Angie, 
with  a  second  effort  to  escape  Polly's  society. 

"  So  am  I,"  —  and  Polly  turned  off  also  in  that  direc 
tion. 


HA  <   .\   11  n    Hi  .1  n  i  s 

••  It'-  furt her  fur  you." 

"X),  never  mind  ;  I'll  go  this  way  too  for  sake  o'  com- 
pany." 

"The  path's  hotter  worn  by  tin-  road."  suggested 
Angle;  but  it  was  of  n<>  avail;  I'olly  did  not  mind  the 
deep  snow  —  liked  it  —  was  determined  to  go  the  same 
way  that  Anirie  went. 

Angie  moved  on  in  advance,  and  walked  as  last  as  she 
could. 

u  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry  ;  I  want  to  talk  with  you," 
cried  Polly ;  a  wait !  "  and  Polly  came  alongside  and 
linked  her  arm  in  Angie's,  disregarding  the  fact  that  the 
footpath  across  the  fields  was  hardly  wide  enough  for 
one. 

Angje  trembled;  sl.e  wa-  so  afraid  Polly  meant  to 
question  her  about  George.  But  her  fears  were  ground 
less.  Tlu-  time  had  been  whrn  on  an  orra-ion  like  tin- 
present  Polly  would  have  made  her  handsome  cousin  tin- 
constant  topic.  Not  that  she  had  ever  really  thought  of 
rivalling  Angie  in  thi-  quarter,  but  she  liked  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  an  instance  of  pique  between  the  lovers,  to 
boast  of  her  familiarity  with  George,  insinuate  her 
suspicions  of  his  feelings  ami  his  pivfeiviMv-.  and  hint  at 
the  terms  of  cousinly  confidence  which  had  -rown  out  of 
their  close  relationship.  It  had  sometimes  happened,  in 
this  way,  that  .-he  had  succeeded  in  exciting  An.iri' 
riosity,  and  by  fei«rnin<r  a  knowledge  which  she  did  not 
possess,  had  extract.-d  from  An^ic  confe-^ions  which  th«- 
latter  afterwards  regretted  ;  for  Polly,  as  a  self-ap- 


POLLY    DEFIANT   AND    POLLY    SUBDUED,        205 

pointed  meddler  and  go-between,  always  contrived  to 
make  mischief,  and  generally  to  widen  the  breach.  It 
had  long  since  become  instinctive  with  Angie  to  avoid 
her  interrogations  and  interference  in  all  matters  where 
George  was  concerned.  How  much  more  then  when  life 
and  death  were  in  the  balance,  and  a  word  might  betray, 
did  she  shrink  from  committing  the  scales  of  fate  to 
such  dangerous  hands.  But  now  she  had  agitated  her 
self  needlessly  on  this  point.  Polly's  mind  —  a  mind  of 
no  great  capacity  at  the  best —  was  filled  to  overflowing 
with  another  subject,  so  that,  happily,  there  was  no  space 
left  for  her  cousin  George.  She  could  talk  of  nothing 
but  the  captain  ;  and  though  the  captain  was  not  a  topic 
on  which  Angie  could  dwell  without  pain,  it  was  a  bless 
ed  relief  from  what  she  had  anticipated.  So  she  listened 
with  patience  and  a  tolerable  show  of  interest  Avhile 
Polly  dwelt  on  the  trivial  details  connected  with  this  dis 
tinguished  guest  at  the  tavern ;  telling  at  what  time  he 
usually  took  his  meals,  at  what  time  he  breakfasted  on 
the  morning  of  his  departure,  what  choice  viands  were 
served  up  for  him  by  Polly's  own  direction,  and  what 
compliments  he  paid  to  her  while  she  was  presiding  at 
the  coffee-pot,  and  entertaining  him  with  the  particulars  of 
her  uncle's  murder  just  brought  to  light.  Then  she  re 
lated  how  he  invited  her  to  drive  to  church  in  the  hired 
sleigh  that  was  to  take  him  to  the  city,  how  he  helped 
her  out  at  the  church  door,  how  the  country  folks,  en 
grossed  as  they  were  with  the  news  from  the  mountain, 
found  time  to  whisper  and  stare,  and  how  beautifully  he 
18 


206  HAI'\  rr  />    n  r  HITS. 


waved  liis  haiul  to  her  as  she  -,..,><!  <>«i  the  church  ltep| 
and  he  set  oil'  lor  the  city,  her  lather'-  .-talde-lioy  drivm-/. 
ami  the  horse  prancing.  a<  it'  he  reali/ed  tliat  tin-  captain 
wa-  \\'«rth  making  some  effort  to  pie. 

Polly  t"l«l  all  this  with  Mich  rdi-h.  a  rdi.-h  inlinitelv 
enhanced  l»y  the  sting  ol'  jeal<>u>y  she  believed  hersdf  t«» 
l»e  awakening  in  her  hearer,  that  AMIMC  was  sjiared  the 
necessity  of  oncoura.L'in.ir  ho-  l.y  a  word.  Even  wlien 
there  was  a  pause,  1'olly  was  so  eniraired  with  selt-inipor- 
tant  nirs  and  meditations  on  her  own  triumph,  that  >he 
was  content  to  let  Annie  proceed  in  mortified  silence,  and 
so  they  reached  Mr.  Cousin's  house  lonjr  hei'ore  this  fruit 
ful  topic  wa-  exhausted. 

Anjric  >tood  with  her  hand  on  tlie  door-latch  waiting 
to  hid  Polly  good-by  ;  but  Polly  did  not  stir,  and  kept  »\\ 
talking.  At  last  Angie  verged  upon  rudcm-ss  in  her 
ell'nrt.-  tu  ;jct  e\cu>ed  and  go  into  the  house,  iutei-ruptini: 
Polly  with.  ••  Vnu  can  tell  me  the  rest  some  other  time  : 
it's  so  cold  standing  here,  (lond-liy."  and  she  made  a 
motion  to  go  in. 

"It  is  c,,ld."  said  Polly,  "I'm  almost  fro/en.  I'll 
come  in  a  little  while  and  get  warm  :  "  and  thus,  selt- 
invited.  I'olly  j)U>ln-d  in  al-o. 

The  moment  they  entered  the  >ittin-_r  mom.  Ai 
eye  fell  on  a  letter  which  lay  upon  the  lahlc,  directed. 
as  >he  >aw  at  a  glance.  t<>  her>ell'.  I-'.very  thing  frightened 
Angir  new.  and  instinctively  her  hand  clu-ed  <>\er  tin- 
letter,  but  not  before  Tolly  also  had  spied  it  and  reoog* 
nized  the  handwriting. 


POLLY   DEFIANT   AND    POLLY    SUBDUED.     207 

u  Why,  that's  Cap'n  Josselyn's  writing  !  That  can't 
be  meant  for  you  ! "  cried  Polly  ;  and  grasping  Angle's 
hand,  she  snatched  the  letter  from  under  it,  and  held  it 
up  to  the  light. 

Angle's  eyes  flashed  with  anger  and  repressed  alarm. 
She  made  a  motion  to  recover  the  letter ;  but  Polly, 
having  convinced  herself  that  it  was  really  Angle's  prop 
erty,  flung  it  over  her  head,  and  turned  to  ask  Happy, 
who  was  just  looking  in  from  the  kitchen,  by  what 
messenger  it  had  come. 

"  Your  pa's  stable-boy  fetched  it,  miss  ;  he  says  the 
gen'l'man  he  driv  to  York  giv  it  to  him  for  Miss  Angie." 

"  Where  is  the  boy?  "  asked  Polly,  impatiently. 

"  Wai,  miss,  ole  Hap  see  him  walk  up  to  the  barn  for 
to  look  arter  our  Sim  ;  thar  he  is  now,  jes'  comin'  back, 
I  declar'  —  lucky  Massa  Stein  don  know  how  he's  been 
a  spendin'  his  time  this  'ere  arternoon." 

Without  waiting  further  than  to  catch  sight  of  the 
captain's  messenger,  Polly  rushed  out  to  intercept  him, 
and  inquire  what  other  letters  or  commissions  the  captain 
had  intrusted  to  him.  But  she  could  not  learn  that  there 
were  any  other  letters  or  tokens  from  the  recreant  cap 
tain.  The  utmost  that  her  pertinacious  cross-questioning 
could  extract  from  the  clumsy  Mercury  was  to  the  effect 
that  "  the  letter  to  Miss  Angie  Cousin,  an'  a  shillin'  to 
pay  fur  carryin'  it,  was  the  only  arrant,  'cept  a  dab  o' 
paper  to  Mr.  Stein,  tellin'  where  to  send  the  cap'n's 
trunk,  'cause  he  wasn't  comin'  back  no-  more." 

Meanwhile  Angie,  left    to    herself,  meekly   took   her 


•jus 

letter  from    the   floor.  broke   tin-   >eal.  stamped   with  what 
looked  like  a  family  crest,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

••  Ni  \v  V..KK,  Dec.  26,  1812. 
••  (  n  \  KM  ING   MlSS    AN  <.n  •:. 

" Adieu!     My  sole  pang  in  lea\ing   N»-w  Jersey  is  the 
thought  that  I  >hall  never  again  see  tin-  lair  friend, 
'  Whose  In-art  was  my  home  in  an  enemy's  land.' 

1  flatter  myself  that  the  emotion  i-  mutual.  Continue, 
I  entreat  you,  to  cherish  tender  recollections  of  your 
devoted  Josselyn.  Our  paths,  like  our  lots  in  life,  lie 
apart.  Had  Heaven  placed  you,  dear  girl,  in  tin-  sphere 
you  are  so  well  fitted  to  adorn,  who  knows  what  we 
might  have  heeii  to  each  other?  It  grieve-  me  that  one 
whose  beauty  and  graiv  liave  cheered  my  exile  should 
be  doomed  to  wast»>  her  >\\eetne-s  upon  a  neighborhood 
SO  contracted  and  \nlgar  a-  that  of  Stein's  Plains;  but 
habit,  I  have  no  doubt,' reconciles  you  to  many  things 
which  -Imck  ilie  >en>ihilitii's  of  a  stranger;  and,  alas! 
every  station  in  life  has  its  disadvantages.  It  may  be  a 
consolation  to  you  to  be  assured  that  you  will  not  be 
quite  forgotten  in  those  more  aristocratic  circles  to  which 
my  destiny  leads  me.  I  .-ball  >till  carry  your  im:. 
my  heart.  Many  a  fair  daughter  of  my  own  country 
will  suffer  by  a  comparison  with  it  ;  and  when  the  fcQftM 
goes  round  I  shall  pique  the  curiuHty  of  my  brother 
officers  by  giving  them  the  •  New  Jersey  belle.' 

"And  now,  mv  IWfetl   Woterii  flower,  farewell!      Sad 
word,   which    I    would    whi>per   in    your   ear,   instead   of 


POLLY   DEFIANT    AND    POLLY    SUBDUED.      209 

intrusting  it  to  paper ;  but  time  presses.  I  have  re 
ceived  my  release  from  your  government  at  Washington, 
and  finding  an  immediate  opportunity  to  set  sail  for  Eng 
land,  have  not  the  leisure  to  indulge  myself  in  a  visit  to 
Stein's  Plains  —  I  would  say  rather  to  you,  the  only 
object  there  worth  remembering,  the  only  being  whom  I 
care  to  honor  with  a  parting  notice.  Adieu,  then,  my 
charmer,  and  let  me  hope  you  will  sometimes  remember, 
with  a  sigh  of  regret, 

"  Your  enthusiastic  admirer, 

"  PAUL  AUGUSTUS  JOSSELYN." 

Shame,  indignation,  disgust  —  all  the  emotions  which 
a  proud  girl  can  feel,  who  has  been  humbled,  slighted, 
and  scorned  by  a  worthless  and  conceited  lover,  rose  up 
together,  and  scourged  poor  Angie  until  her  blood  tingled 
in  every  vein.  "For  this  —  for  this"  thought  she,  as 
she  dashed  the  letter  on  the  table,  "  I  have  bargained 
every  thing — all  that  life  had  promised,  or  sin  and  death 
could  destroy.  O  God,  my  punishment  is  greater  than 
I  can  bear  !  "  and  she  pressed  her  hand  against  her  heart, 
which,  in  her  intensity  of  contrition  and  agony,  seemed 
as  if  it  would  burst.  She  had  thrown  herself  into  a 
chair  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room  ;  her  eyelids 
were  convulsively  strained  together,  as  if  she  were  striv 
ing  to  imprison  her  very  soul  in  darkness.  But,  alas  ! 
there  is  no  hiding  from  one's  self.  She  could  not  shut 
out  the  remorseful  and  degrading  images  that  were  tor 


turing  her. 


18 


2lu  n.\  i  \  •/•/•  i>  ii  /  i  /.•  / 

Witnr— c-  i.l'  a  love  that  had  been  true  in  her  from 
her  childhood  were  thronging  around  her  with  >ad.  re 
proachful  look.  The  ghastly  countenance  of  the  mur 
dered  man  transfixed  her  with  its  stare.  The  poor 
fugitive  from  justicv.  hi.-  feature-  .-laim-d  with  sin  and 
di-torted  with  de-pair,  looked  back  at  her  accusingly. 
Ministers  of  vengeance  shook  their  thivatrniug  linger-  i:i 
the  air.  and  the  fiendish  faces  of  demons  mocked  her 
with  their  laughter. 

The  last  all  wore  the  features  of  the  captain  —  the 
varying  expressions  that  had  so  captivated  her  a  few 
days  since  only  serving  now  to  give  variety  to  insult. 

The  terrible  events  of  the  last  two  days  had  so  pressed 
upon  one  another  that  until  m»w  An^ie  had  almost  for 
gotten  the  part  the  captain  had  played  in  the  drama,  at 
least  had  forgotten  to  reproach  him.  But  now  he  had 
forced  himself  upon  her  remembrance,  and  with  bitter 
upbraiding  she  exclaimed  to  herself,  M  He  has  made  a 
fool  of  me,  the  cold-hearted  wretch  !  And  I !  O,  I  hau« 
been  the  cause  of  all  this  misery  !  " 

Annie  did  not  spare  herself.  If  she  cried  out  in  her 
auony  again.M  him  who  had  eiiconra'_red  her  lu-arlle-siu--. 
it  \va-  not  that  .-he  mi-Jit  >hake  off  the  l.nrden  of  1, lame. 
From  ihe  first  she  had  bowed  h.-rs.-lf  to  that  burden. 
Thorough  in  her  penitence.  g«-n,-r«.us  in  her  >i-ll-ivproarh. 
>he  would  gladly  have  .-nlli-ivd  all  the  ignominy.  Inn-m 
all  the  penalty.  Humiliated  to  the  dn>t,  the  one  crv  of 
her  spirit  wa>.  "  (  >\i  me.  on  me.  h-t  the  retribution  fall  !" 

It  is  the  cry  of  many  a  burdened   soul;  but  it   may 


POLLY   DEFIANT   AND    POLLY   SUBDUED.    211 

never  be.  "  No  man  liveth  to  himself,  and  no  man 
dieth  to  himself."  There  was  retribution  enough  in 
store  for  Angie  ;  the  poor  girl  scarcely  need  claim  more 
than  her  share  ;  but  the  hardest  feature  in  her  punish 
ment  was  not  the  blasting  of  her  own  hopes.  It  was 
seeing  the  wide-spread  desolation  caused  by  the  whirl 
wind,  to  which  she,  in  the  beginning,  had  lent  breath. 

To  stand  and  view  the  mischief  done  is  sometimes  the 
severest  penalty.  If  Angie  could  have  been  at  once 
struck  out  of  the  game  of  life,  she  would  have  submitted 
gladly.  As  it  was,  hers  was  to  be  a  harder  fate  ;  she 
was  to  live  and  look  on. 

Nor  was  she  even  to  be  suffered  to  meditate  undis 
turbed.  Not  for  self,  henceforth,  was  her  life  to  be.  In 
action  and  in  sympathy  she  must,  for  the  future,  find  her 
mission  and  her  solace. 

She  was  roused  from  her  wretched  self-indulgence  by 
a  sudden,  loud  cry,  accompanied  by  a  deep  heaving  from 
some  human  breast  near  her,  and  succeeded  by  an  out 
burst  of  vehement  weeping.  She  looked  up  suddenly, 
and  there,  opposite  to  her,  sat  Polly,  the  captain's  letter 
open  at  her  feet,  and  her  whole  frame  convulsed  with 
sobs.  She  had  come  back  unheard  by  Angie,  and  taking 
advantage  of  the  latter's  abstraction,  had  read  the  letter 
from  beginning  to  end,  —  a  fact  of  which  she  seemed  to 
feel  no  shame  and  attempted  no  concealment. 

Angie,  not  comprehending  the  scene  at  a  first  glance, 
and  moved  only  by  astonishment,  started  up,  and  ran  to 
her,  thinking  from  the  noise  she  made,  that  she  was  hurt 


212  HA  i  ,\  / •  t  i>   ni  .1  urn. 

and  in  bodily  pain  :  hut  Polly  pn-hed  her  hack  with  evi 
dent  spile,  and  kept  on  cryinir,  nut  sentimentally  nor  hys 
terically.  Imt  -with  a  loud  blnbberint:  cry.  like  that  of 
a  whipped  school-boy.  An«_ri»'  looked  down,  saw  the 
letter,  and  t'elt  a  momentary  contempt  for  her  visitor, 
which  Ava-  not  softened  when  Tolly,  ohscr\  inir  An.irir'.- 
glance.  >pranir  to  her  feet,  and  vented  a  portion  of  her 
rage  by  stamping  on  the  letter,  and  then  .-pnrniiiLr  it.  or, 
more  correctly,  kicking  it  across  the  floor  with  her  foot. 

Angie  picked  it  up  for  the  >ec<md  time,  folded  it,  and 
put  it  in  her  poeket.  Polly  kept  on  -ohhing  and  roaring, 
making  a  most  vulgar  and  passionate  exhibition  of  grief. 
There  may  In-  dignity  and  self-respect  even  amid  tears; 
but  these  were  qualities  in  which  Polly  was  wanting  at 
all  times,  and  the  utter  self-abandonment  of  her  behavior 
could  only  be  compared  to  that  of  an  uproarious  child. 
She  bent  her  thin  body  backwards  and  forAA-ards,  caught 
her  breath  convulsively,  and  even  gave  A-ent  at  intervals 
to  short,  sli|rp  shrieks. 

The-e  nun-Hal  sounds  soon  brought  Happy  Boose  to 
learn  the  caiiM-  of  the  commotion. 

"  Lud  a'  ma— Y  !"  was  her  comment,  uyer  ain't  kilt,  are 
yer  !  Ole  Hap  thought  mebne  Miss  An-_rie  was  a  heatin' 
yer ;  same  M  oh-  mi-sis  down  South  u-ed  to  heat  di 
ver  !ii_r<_r«  i  w.  nch,  but  ebery  body  's  so  'cited  and  cru/ed- 
like,  dis  yer  time,  dat  dey  cries  for  little  or  nothin'  ;  " 
and  Happy,  apparently  concluding  that  Polly's  cas« 
of  this  kind,  retreated  into  her  kitchen  and  shut  the 
door. 


POLLY  DEFIANT  AND    POLLY  SUBDUED.      213 

Polly  now  dropped  her  arms  upon  the  table  and  her 
head  upon  her  arms,  and  began  to  gasp  and  choke,  so 
that  Angie  was  first  frightened,  and  at  length  moved  to 
pity  ;  for  this  grief,  though  coarse  and  childish  in  its 
expression,  was,  nevertheless,  unmistakably  real. 

"  Don't  cry  so,  Polly,"  she  said  at  length,  laying  her 
hand  kindly  on  Polly's  shoulder. 

Polly  shook  the  hand  off;  but,  on  the  action's  being 
repeated,  she  submitted  to  it  more  patiently,  and  even 
made  an  effort  to  repress  her  sobs. 

"He's  a  good-for-nothing,  flirting  fellow — not  worth 
minding !  "  suggested  Angie,  by  way  of  consolation. 

"O,  you  think  so,  do  you?"  gasped  Polly.  "  That's 
jest  because  he's  jilted  you.  I  always  knew  he  didn't 
care  two  straws  for  you  —  he  used  to  laugh  at  you  be 
hind  your  back,  but  "  —  here  Polly  was  seized  with  an 
other  crying  fit,  which  lasted  some  time,  but  at  length, 
she  managed  to  ejaculate,  in  a  sort  of  shriek,  which  es- 
Saped  her  amid  a  succession  of  spasms  and  sobs,  —  "  but 
he  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  behave  so  cruel  to  me !  " 

In  spite  of  Polly's  malice,  which  made  itself  evident 
in  the  earlier  part  of  this  remark,  Angie,  who  was  in  no 
mood  to  care  for  her  spite,  much  less  retort,  assented  to 
the  later  proposition,  selfish  as  it  was,  saying,  in  a  sym 
pathetic  tone,  "  Yes,  it  is  a  shame  !  " 

"  What's  a  shame  ? "  cried  Polly,  firing  up  at  this. 
"What  do  you  know  about  the  cap'n  and  me?  Like 
enough  he'll  write  or  send  for  me  yet.  I  reckon  I  know 
the  cap'n  better  'n  you  do  ?  " 


214  HAUNTFD    HEARTS. 

"Then  I  wouldn't  In-  BO  discouraged." 

•  Discouraged'  Who's  discouraged?  You,  like 
enough. —  I  ain't!"  But  Polly  here  contradicted  her 
self  by  hurMiir.:  tntO  another  pa.—  ioiiate  fit  of  crying, 
which  Angie  judged  it  he.-t  in  wait  tin-  conclusion  of 
in  silenc,  . 

Apparently,  Polly  considered  her  I 
good  thing  to  rest  her  cause  upon,  for,  after  a  giva! 
etlort,  .she  succeeded  in  mastering  ln-r  tear-,  gradually 
settling  into  the  sulk.-,  —  a  mood  in  which  she  was  scorn 
fully  indillerent  to  Angie's  oiler  of  water  to  bathe  her 
face,  by  this  time  extremely  red  and  tear-stained. 

"  No!  Let  me  alone!  I  don't  want  any  thing  from 
you!"  was  her  rnde  acknowledgment  of  the  attention; 
and  jerking  her  shoulders  from  side  to  side  to  express 
her  aversion  to  her  hostess,  she  wiped  her  face  with  a 
soiled  pocket-handkerchief,  readjusted  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  and  flounced  out  of  the  house. 

Angie  waJched  her  go  down  the  road,  and  uncon 
sciously  groaned  aloud.  Ah-nnl  as  Polly's  pretensions 
might  be,  and  degrading  as  was  her  manifestation  of  dis 
appointment.  Aniric  tint.-  murmured  to  herself:  "Poor 
thini:!  there  sli  '-an-vimr  home  her  burden  of  sor 

row!"  and  Airjie.  the  fountain  of  who-e  sympathies  was 
stirred  to  its  depth,  -jroam-d  not  merely  for  Polly,  not 
merely  for  hers. -If.  but  for  a  whole  world  lying  in  wick 
edness,  and  for  a  sorrow  a-  world-wide  as  the  sin. 

NVln-n  Polly  was  t'airlv  out  of  sight,  she  turned  and 
went  slowly  up  to  her  own  room.  She  now  drew  the 


POLLY  DEFIANT  AND   POLLY  SUBDUED.     2l5 

captain's  letter  from  her  pocket,  and  looking  absently 
about  her  for  a  place  in  which  to  deposit  it,  opened  a 
bureau-drawer.  She  started  back  as  if  a  serpent  lay 
coiled  there,  then  stood  a  moment  gazing  on  the  muslin, 
flowers,  and  ribbon  which  had  constituted  her  becoming 
finery  on  the  night  of  the  Christinas  ball,  —  that  fatal 
night,  of  which  she  was  never  to  think  again  without  a 
shudder.  She  tossed  the  letter  on  top  of  them.  "  Lie 
there  !  "  she  might  have  said,  "  an  epitaph  on  my  buried 
youth,  a  sermon  on  vanity ! "  but  Angie  could  not 
moralize.  She  could  only  feel.  That  she  did  feel  this, 
and  more,  there  could  be  no  doubt,  for  she  closed  the 
drawer  solemnly,  as  if  it  had  been  a  tomb,  and  it  was 
years  before  she  ventured  again  to  open  it. 

She  wandered  about  the  house  a  while  in  the  restless 
ness  of  despair,  avoiding  Happy  Boose  for  fear  of  her 
inquisitive  tongue,  and  not  venturing  down  stairs  until 
she  heard  her  father  come  in.  Then  she  went  below, 
and  entertained  him  as  well  as  she  could,  making  his  tea 
as  usual,  and  trying  to  appear  collected  and  cheerful. 
She  even  played  a  game  at  draughts  with  the  old  French 
man,  and  did  not  leave  for  the  night  until  -it  was  near 
his  bed-time. 

"  Ain't  you  'fraid  to  go  'lone  cross  dem  fields  dese 
times"? "  asked  Happy,  as  she  followed  her  to  the  door. 
"  Pity  now  Massa  George  wan't  here  !  I  thought.  Miss 
Angie,  when  I  see  you  giv'  him  a  walkin'  ticket,  that 
we'd  be  wishin'  him  back  bad  nuff,  'fore  long." 

"No  ;  O  no  ;  nobody '11  hurt  me,"  replied  Angie,  peer- 


216  ii. i  r\  r  i:  i>  ti  i:  A  n  TS. 

ing  into  the  darkness  with  terror,  however,  as  she  spoke. 
"  Take  good  care  of  my  father,  Happy  !  " 

44  Law,  Miss  Angie,"  said  Happy,  "  I  ain't  much  feard 
«.'  them  villains,  —  leastways  wouldn't  be  ef  massa  wan't 
-  i  'liscouragin*  jes  at  bed-time  ;  but  what  with  jmttin'  the 
carvin1  knit'*-  where 't '11  be  handy,  an'  la-tenm'  up  the 
winders  with  tin-  kitchin  forks,  it  seems  as  it'  lie  '-peeled 
'em,  sure/  I  says  my  prayers  ebery  ni'/nt.  an'  1  h'lieve 
tin  Lord  '11  take  care  o'  massa  an*  ole  Hap  ;  but  once  in 
a  while,  you  know.  Miss  Angie,  there's  ugly  critturs 
roun'  that  will  rob  and  murder  spite  o'  any  body." 

With  which  liual  intimation  of  a  doubt  the  faithful 
Hapj5y  watched  Angie's  plunge  into  the  gloom,  and  con 
tinued  listening  in  the  door-way  until  she  had  had  time 
to  reach  her  destination,  ath  r  which  the  old  negress 
assisted  Mr.  Cousin  in  prudently  fastening  up  the  doors 
and  windows,  —  a  precaution  universally  observed  at 
Stein's  Plains  ever  since  the  event  which  had  served  to 
alarm  the  whole  neighborhood. 


A  FRESH  CATASTROPHE.  217 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    FRESH    CATASTROPHE. 

IT  has  been  said  that  the  murder  of  Baultie  Rawle, 
with  the  circumstances  attending  it,  constituted  the  nine 
days'  wonder  of  the  people  of  Stein's  Plains.  What, 
nine  days  only?  Surely  a  subject  of  such  engrossing 
interest  could  not  have  been  laid  to  rest  in  so  brief  a 
space  of  time  !  By  no  means  :  at  the  expiration  of  that 
period  the  excitement  was  still  at  its  height.  But  now  a 
diversion  was  suddenly  created  in  the  public  mind,  for, 
on  the  tenth  day,  tidings  of  a  fresh  catastrophe  reached 
the  plains,  —  a  catastrophe  which,  if  possible,  possessed  for 
the  inhabitants  a  nearer  and  more  vital  interest,  involving 
as  it  did  the  fate  of  one  who,  unlike  the  murdered  man, 
was  a  universal  favorite,  —  and  furnishing  a  terrible  re 
sponse  to  the  query,  so  many  times  passed  from  lip  to 
lip,  "What  has  become  of  Geordie  Rawle?" 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news?"  had  lately  been  a  com 
mon  question  at  Stein's  Plains,  where  fresh  develop 
ments,  real  or  imaginary,  were  hourly  reported ;  but  it 
came  with  renewed  force  this  day  from  the  mouth  of  the 
19 


218  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

village  blacksmith,  who,  standing  outside  his  forge  among 
a  little  knot  of  his  neighbors,  thus  mysteriously  inti 
mated  to  Farmer  Itycker.  who  had  suddenly  drawn  up 
his  team  on  the  way  to  mill,  tin-  cause  and  meaning  of 
such  an  unusual  assembly  of  idlers  on  a  week  day. 

••  No  ;  what  is  't  ?  Speak  out,  man  !  Has  the  whole 
thing  come  ter  light  ?  Have  they  kotched  the  rascal  ?  " 

"O-o-o-h  no  !  "  replied  the  smith,  with  that  prolonga 
tion  of  tone  which  gives  weight  to  an  a.->erti<>n.  especially 
a  contradictory  one,  —  "that  would  be  good  news.  thi> 
i8  bad  —  bad." 

"  More  bad  news  !  "  muttered  the  farmer,  commencing 
to  clamber  down  from  his  wagon.  "  "Who's  consumed 
in  't '' "  he  questioned  auxiously,  as  soon  as  his  feet 
touched  the  ground,  and  he  found  liiin.-i-lf  he-ide  the 
smith  ;  "the  Britishers  ain't  in  York  harbor,  I  hope." 

"  No ;  it's  a  family  consarn  —  a  sorrer  to  the  whole 
neighborhood,  but  specially  to  the  Rawles,  —  iui>f<»rtiifs 
never  come  singly.  It's  about  Geordic." 

"  What  about  Geordie?"  cried  the  farmer,  advancing 
towards  the  kuot  of  rustics.  "What's  happened  to  him? 

Where  is  he?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  110  reply  to  the  question. 
The  smith,  who  had  suffered  Ryckcr  to  precede  him.  took 
advantage  of  the  shelter  from  observation  afforded  by  the 
farmer's  bulky  figure,  to  pass  a  sooty  hand  across  moist 
ened  eyes,  the  result  of  which  was,  a  countenance  more 
grimy  and  lugubrious  than  before. 

The  farmer  looked  from  face  to  face,  and  impatiently 


A    FRESH   CATASTROPHE.  219 

repeated  his  question,  —  "What's  happened  to  Geor- 
die?" 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  little  assemblage  were  filled 
with  emotions  very  different  from  those  which  had  lately 
occupied  them.  There  was  no  anger,  no  fear,  and  but 
little  speculation  on  their  faces  —  only  horror  and  sad 
ness.  Nobody  seemed  willing  to  give  utterance  to  what 
was  trembling  on  every  lip  ;  at  last  an  old  man,  leaning 
on  a  stick,  solemnly  pronounced  the  words,  "  He's  dead  !  " 

"Dead?" 

"  Yes,  drownded." 

"Good  Lord!    How  did  it  happen  ?   When?   Where?" 

There  was  silence  again  at  this,  broken  only  by  a 
hysterical  sob  from  the  smith's  daughter,  who  turned 
and  ran  into  the  house,  and  a  groan  from  her  mother, 
who  likewise  sought  refuge  from  observation  by  sud 
denly  throwing  her  apron  over  her  head. 

The  old  man  tried  to  speak  again,  but  his  voice 
failed  him.  The  children  standing  by  looked  up  in 
their  parents'  faces  sympathetically. 

"  Nobody  likes  to  say  much  about  it,"  whispered  the 
smith,  plucking  the  farmer  by  the  sleeve  and  drawing 
him  back  a  little  towards  the  wagon.  "  It  may  ha'  been 
an  accident ;  but  we're  all  suspicious  as  how  he  made 
way  with  himself,  —  poor  feller  !  " 

Rycker's  face  now  assumed  the  prevailing  look  of 
horror,  instantly  succeeded  by  an  expression  of  eager 
curiosity.  "  Took  his  own  life  !  Committed  suicide  ! 
What,  Geordie  ?  Why,  I'd  as  soon  ha'  believed  it  of  our 


220  HA  UN  T  K  D   HE  A  R  TS. 

Joe!"  was  the  .-erics  of  exclamations  with  which  he 
reeei\ed  the  tidings.  "  Who  brought  the  news?  lia\e 
they  found  his  body?  Is't  generally  criditcd?"  was 
the  cross-examination  with  which  he  proceeded  to  sound 
his  informant. 

"Ay!  that's  jest  it,"  responded  the  smith.  k-  The 
body 's  turned  up,  an'  there 's  the  whole  story  on  the  face 
on't,  yer  see;"  and  here  the  smith,  who  had  by  thi- 
time  mastered  the  emotion  he  had  felt  in  naming  the 
subject  to  a  new  comer,  laid  down  his  finger  with  em 
phasis,  and  spoke  with  the  oracular  air  of  a  man  who 
had  been  among  the  first  to  be  initiated  in  a  weighty 
matter.  u  One  o'  them  officers,  what's  been  back  an* 
forth  so  much  on  Baultie's  business,  fetched  up  a  city 
paper  last  night  an'  stood  rcadin  it  at  Stein's  liar,  smok- 
in'  a  pipe  at  ween  whiles.  There  was  a  lot  of  us  neighbors 
loafin'  round,  talkin'  about  the  affair  on  the  mountain 
yonder.  4  Hullo!  what's  this 'ere?'  says  the  feller,  —  an' 
he  takes  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  an'  reads  to  himself  a 
minute,  — 4  this  consarns  your  folks  up  here.'  says  he; 
*  >ame  name  anyhow!'  Of  course  we  was  all  wide 
awake  at  that,  an'  then  he  out  with  it.  I  can't  remember 
the  wordin'  on't,  but  I've  got  it  here  in  my  hat  90VM- 
where  ;  they  wouldn't  let  the  paper  out  o'  the  bar-room, 
so,  as  I'm  not  much  of  a  hand  at  writin,  I  sent  my  dar 
ter  up  to  copy  it  out.  Here  it  be,"  and  he  produced  from 
the  greasy  lining  of  his  hat,  where  he  had  been  diligently 
fumbling,  the  following  advertisement  which,  in  a  blun 
dering  way,  he  contrived  to  read  for  his  neighbor'* 
edification. 


A    FRESH   CATASTROPHE.  221 

"  The  body  of  a  man  was  yesterday  discovered  on 
Staten  Island,  where  it  had  undoubtedly  been  washed 
ashore.  It  was  above  the  ordinary  height,  hair  light,  — 
apparently  the  body  of  a  young  man.  He  wore  a  stout 
overcoat,  with  smooth,  metallic  buttons,  in  the  pocket  of 
which  was  found  a  silver  watch,  of  English  manufacture, 
marked  on  the  inside  '  George  Rawle.'  The  body  had 
probably  been  under  water  a  week  or  more.  It  has  been 
deposited  at  the  Catherine  Street  ferry-house.  Friends 
will  please  call  at  once  and  indentify  the  same." 

"Good  Lud !  what  are  we  comin'  ter?"  cried  the 
farmer,  as  the  smith  finished  reading.  "  Murder  and 
suicide  both  in  one  week  !  Who'd  a  thought  it  ?  " 

"  I  can  tell  yer  we  was  pooty  well  struck  up  at  the 
tavern,"  remarked  the  smith,  as  he  folded  the  paper  and 
replaced  it  in  his  hat. 

"  Has  any  body  gone  down  to  York  to  see  'bout  it?" 
asked  the  farmer.  "  Have  they  told  his  mother?" 

Stein  was  hesitating  last  night  whether  to  go  himself 
or  send  Peter.  But  Dick  Van  Hausen  's  gone  down  ;  he 
ain't  one  o'  yer  hesitatin'  sort,  —  Dick  ain't.  Besides,  he 
thought  the  warld  o'  Geordie  ?  He  started  off  fore  day 
light." 

"  An'  the  old  ooman?  Who's  goin'  to  break  it  to  Mar- 
gory?" 

"  Nobody  round  here  would  undertake  it ;  so  they  sent 
for  the  dominie.     He's  jest  gone  over  there.     I  see  his 
shay  turn  round  the  corner  by  the  tavern  a  minute  or 
two  'fore  you  driv  up." 
19* 


HA  r  \  i  i  i>   n  t:  A  /:  r  <  . 


"  Poor   crcctur  !  "    said   the  tanner. 
<••  poor  rrrt-tur  !  " 

The  smith  assented  to  this,  by  shaking  hi-  head 
side  to  side  in  silent  sympathy. 

"  But  who  knows  but  it  was  an  accident  ?  "  queried 
Farmer  Ryckcr,  in  tin-  hopeful  tone  of  a  man  unwil 
ling  to  believe  any  thing  without  sufficient  proof,  — 
"  or  foul  play,  mebbe  !  —  we've  known  enough  o'  that 
-<>rt  o'  thing  lately  to  credit  any  amount  o'  bloody  work. 
Geordie  was  a  good-uatered  teller  ;  but  somebody  might 
have  owed  him  a  grudge,  or  he  might  ha'  got  wa-hed 
overboard,  or  stepped  off  some  wharf  at  night,  or  -  " 

"  O,  't  wan't  no  sidi  a  tiling."  inti-rposi'd  the  smith, 
impatiently.  "Might  ha*  been,  to  l»c  sure,  but  it  wan't. 
1  '.\ti-y  thinir  goes  to  show  that  he  took  his  own  life  — 
meant  t«  r." 

••  sirli  M  what?"  insisted  tin-  rautions  and  sn-ptical 
larnier. 

"  Wai,  his  behavior  in  general  is  conviucm'  enough 
forme;  but  tlu-iv  's  written  evidence  inter  the  bargain. 
If  Peter  Stein  wan't  a  thick-headed  fool,  we'd  ha'  been 
.-an-hiif  tor  tin-  body  morc'n  a  Werk  | 

M  Wliy  :  did  lie  give  l\-tcr  warnin'  of  his  intention? 
Do  tell,  now?"  and  the  farmer's  eyes  and  mouth  grew 
wide  with  curiosity. 

"'Mounts  ti-r  that.  It  seems  1'cn-  '-  had  an  order  in 
hi-;  pocket  ever  since  Geordie  was  nii>sin\  savin'  a-  how 
the  mare  was  lawfully  his'n  ;  an  ycr  must  know  it  turns 
out  Pete  had  a  mortgage  on  Nancy  ;  an'  one  o'  them  fellers 


A    FRESH    CATASTROPHE.  223 

that  was  up  to  the  races  an'  pooty  thick  with  Geordie,  he 
give  Pete  a  bit  o'  writin'  a  week  ago  Saturday  night 
that  would  ha*  put  any  other  friend  o'  the  lad  on  the  scent 
o'  mischief;  but  Pete,  like  the  drunken  fool  that  he  is, 
never  took  in  any  idee,  I  s'pose,  except  that  he'd  got  his 
grip  on  the  horse-flesh  that  he's  allers  had  a  hankerin' 
arter,  to  my  knowledge." 

"An'  now,  what  more's  come  on  it?  eh!"  cried  the 
farmer.  "  Who's  seen  the  letter?  what  does  it  say?" 

"  'Twas  read  out  in  the  bar-room  last  night ;  all  on  us 
heerd  it  that  was  there  when  the  news  fust  come.  Pete 
called  his  father  one  side,  an'  showed  it  to  him.  Old 
Stein  would  ha'  kept  pooty  quiet  about  it,  seein  'twan't 
very  flatterin'  to  father  nor  son  neither ;  but  Dick  Van 
Hausen  had  got  there  by  that  time  —  he  smelt  somethin' 
in  the  wind  —  he  see  old  Diedrich  an'  Pete  consultin' 
together  over  a  scrap  o'  paper  in  Geordie's  handwritin', 
an'  he  would  have  it  out.  By  jiminy,  you  should  ha' 
heerd  him  threaten  how  he'd  have  the  law  down  on  'em 
if  they  kept  any  thing  back.  So  they  handed  it  over  "  — 
(a  pause,  and  hesitancy),  —  an'  Dick  "  (now  a  great  gulp 
in  the  smith's  throat),  "  he  —  he  read " 

"  Wai,"  encouragingly  from  the  farmer. 

"  It  —  it  —  O,  I  tell  you,  farmer"  (at  last  managing  to 
swallow  the  bunch  in  his  throat,  and  so  getting  voice), 
"  it  was  kind  o'  touchin',  seein'  it  was  poor  Geordie  that 
was  speakin',  an'  we  all  a  thinkin'  on  him,  an  knowin'  he 
was  dead." 

"  Umph,"  muttered  the  farmer;  "I  s'pose  so  ! — an* 
what  was  the  sum  on't  ?  " 


UA  i  .\  PJ  i>   ///•:  IJM  - 

••  \V:il.    il    wa>    about    tin-    monev    fu>t,    and   the    farm- 

atweeii  him  an'  IVte, —  pooty  hard  tarms,  he  said  they 

-'.-pecially  as    they  \\a-    mo-t   likely  \<>    he    tin-  la-t. 

Then  he  went  on  to  say  as  how  In-  wa-  mmored  an'  done 
1'ur  :  that  his  uncle  M  got  the  farm  pooty  nii:h,  an'  IVte  had 
got  Nancy  :  an'  n<»\v  he  Imped  they  was  satisfied,  seein' 
there  wasn't  nothiu.'  more  to  be  had  out  on  him.  He  did 
kind  o'  trust  they'd  be  good  to  his  mother,  when  sh« 
left  alone,  an'  poor,  an'  that  Pete  'ud  never  take  a  whip  to 
Nancy.  Yau>c  she  wasn't  used  to  it.  As  fur  him.  'twaift 
no  matter  what  he< -ome  of  him  ;  they  needn't  know  nor 
care.  'Twas  enough  that  he  wouldn't  never  be  in  any 
body's  way  any  more.  An'  then  he  bid  Pete  good-by,  an' 
said  it  was  for  longer  than  he  thought  fur,  perhaps,  but 
that  'twas  no  use  lookin'  fur  him,  for  he  wan't  wuth  the 
sarch,  an'  wouldn't  be  found  no  way." 

The  kind-hearted  and  excitable  smith  did  not  enunci 
ate  the  above  phrases  of  piteous  import,  without  pausing 
several  times  to  brush  away  a  tear,  and  now  and  then 
whimpering  outright.  As  he  finished  he  lifted  his  hat. 
drew  from  its  crown  an  old  silk  handkerchief,  and  having 
wiped  his  face  and  forehead  cnerirctiealK -,  replaced  it, 
with  the  resolute  air  of  one  who,  repenting  of  a  weakness, 
meant  thus  to  wipe  away  every  trace  of  effeminacy,  and 
be  ready  to  act  the  man  airain. 

The     fanner,    AV!I..M-    .-a-v.    phlegmatic     temperament 
sa\«d  him    from    extreme    action    or  sensibility   in    any 
case,  merely  looked  very  grave,  and  ejaculated.  —  "  Sad 
•  >'  business  !  altogether  a  sad  piece  o'  business  ! ' 


A    FRESH   CATASTROPHE.  225 

"  I've  thought  all  along,"  said  the  smith,  at  length, 
after  a  decorous  and  feeling  pause  had  somewhat  ex 
pressed  the  solemnity  both  men  experienced  in  view  of 
the  catastrophe,  "  that  there  was  no  accountin'  for 
Geordie's  bein'  out  o'  the  way  so  at  such  a  time  as 
this." 

The  smith  was  mistaken  —  he  never  had  thought  any 
such  thing.  He,  like  all  his  neighbors,  had  been  satisfied 
with  the  report,  innocently  circulated  by  Van  Hausen, 
that  George  had  started  the  very  day  after  the  races,  to 
once  more  seek  employment  at  road-making  in  Virginia  ; 
and  such  was  the  distance  that,  in  these  days,  when  rail 
roads  and  telegraphs  were  unknown,  nobody  expected 
that  the  news  of  his  uncle's  death  would  overtake  or 
recall  him  immediately. 

Now,  however,  that  this  terrible  development  had 
thrown  light  upon  the  past,  and  excited  the  smith's 
imagination  to  the  utmost,  he  conscientiously  believed 
that  he  had  all  along  been  haunted  by  a  presentiment 
that  there  was  more  trouble  and  mischief  brewing  for  the 
Rawles  ;  that  he  had  from  the  first  considered  Geordie's 
absence  mysterious  and  alarming,  and  that  nothing  but 
the  confidence  other  people  seemed  to  feel  had  kept  him 
silent. 

Nor  were  these  presentiments,  after  the  fact,  peculiar  to 
the  smith.  His  imagination  in  this  respect  was  perhaps 
less  deceptive,  and  the  intuitions  he  claimed  to  have  had, 
less  prophetic  than  those  of  most  of  the  men  (to  say 
nothing  of  the  women)  of  the  parish.  Forcshadowings  of 


•j-jr,  H  \  i  trTMB  HI   i  lira. 

tin-  e\  cut,  now  that  it  was  proclaimed,  soon  proved  to  have 
been  universal  if  one  could  hclirve  the  gossiping  egotism 
with  which  eaeh  claimed  to  ha\e  Keen  foremost  in  anticipat- 
in'_r  tliis  desperate  act  of  •M-lf-de.-tnict  ion  ;  and  as  to  its  mo 
tive,  then-  was  such  dranios  of  com  iction  in  llie  popular 
mind  that  to  doubt  would  have  been  a  heresy,  certain  to 
l»r  vi-itcd  with  contempt  if  too  obdurate  to  be  overcome 
by  argument. 

Thus  there  was  scarce  an  instance  of  non-conformity 
to  the  general  opinion,  and  the  sentiments  expressed  by 
Fanner  Kvcker  and  the  blacksmith,  as  they  continued  their 
dialogue,  were  a  fair  sample  of  those  which  went  the 
rounds  of  the  neighborhood. 

"'Twos  kind  o*  stran-jv."  said  Farmer  Rycker,  mus- 
iugly,  in  reply  to  the  smith's  suggestion,  that  Geordie's 
absence  had  been  mysterious  from  the  beginning ;  then 
the  idea  which  had  struck  tin-  farmer  as  a  novel  one 
jrmwini:  familiar  while  he  ivllected  on  it.  he  added,  confi 
dent  Iv,  "  I  thought  so  from  the  fust." 

"  "Why,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "  the  mornin'  I  came 
down  from  the  mountain,  'fore  I'd  half  finished  tellin'  my 
wife  'bout  the  murder,  an'  the  ro]»\  an'  the  track 
the  crowd  then-  was  then-,  and  all  —  *  Where's  Geordic?  ' 
says  she,  *  warn't  he  there?'  '  No,  he  warn't,'  says  I ; 
and  then  I  .-cratdird  my  head,  and  thought  a  minute  — 
4  Queer  ! '  says  I,  '  but  he  warn't.'  " 

*  AM'  he  warn't  to  the  ball  a:  String"  remarked  the 
farmer.  "  T  missed  him  there." 

"  No,"  replied  the  smith,  "  he  was  so  took  down  about 


A    FRESH    CATASTROPHE.  227 

Nancy  that  night,  he  warn't  up  to  dancing,  nor  any 
other  kind  o'  frolickin'.  I  shod  the  mare  myself,  an'  1 
was  as  sure  as  a  dollar  she'd  win.  'Twas  a  plaguy 
shame  and  an  awful  disappintment  to  the  lad." 

"  So  I  heerd  tell,"  said  the  farmer,  "  but  'twas  a  kind 
o'  thing  he'd  no  business  to  calkerlate  on,  any  way." 

"  True  nuf,  and  he  wouldn't  have,"  said  the  smith, 
apologetically,  "  only  he'd  been  gettin'  pooty  desprate 
afore  that.  I'd  seen  it  workin'  in  his  face.  I  thought 
what  'twould  come  ter." 

"  Do  tell !  "  exclaimed  the  farmer,  "there  hain't  never 
been  sich  a  thing  in  the  Rawle  family  afore,  has  there  ?  " 

"  Not  as  I  know  on,"  was  the  curt  reply,  "  but  there 
must  allers  be  a  fust." 

"  It's  a  dreadful  end  for  a  man  to  come  ter." 

"  O,  dreadful !  the  wust  kind." 

"  It's  an  awful  sw,"  said  the  farmer.  "  How  will  he 
ever  dare  stand  before  God  at  the  judgment  bar?"  he 
added,  in  a  tone  which  excluded  all  hope  of  heavenly 
mercy ;  for,  like  most  men  of  his  day,  a  day  when  the 
causes  and  nature  of  suicide,  with  the  aberration  of  mind 
which  almost  invariably  precedes  the  act,  were  but  little 
understood,  the  farmer  looked  upon  the  crime  as  one  for 
which  there  was  no  atonement,  and  which  even  the  gentle 
virtue  of  charity  must  steel  herself  against  immovably. 

"  Poor  feller  !  poor  Geordie  !  I'm  sorry  for  him  any 
how,"  said  the  smith,  giving  way  to  an  irresistible  im 
pulse  of  humanity. 

"  It  don't  do  to  give  in  to  your  feelin's  in  these  'ere 


228  HA  UXTKH    HI     I  ItTS. 

thin-:-."  a--»-rted  tin-  larmcr.  u  I:'-  a  terrilile  sinful  act 
in  a  yi nm;:  man  that'-  lia«l  j>i<.u>  parents  an'  a  good  brin.iriii* 
up." 

"Mebbe  so"  replied  the  smith,  "  but  I  can't  help 
tliinkin'  what  a  horrid  state  o'  mind  the  poor  lad  must  ha' 
been  in  'fore  he  got  worked  up  to't.  He's  hail  1  <•:-  b1 
crosses  and  disappintincnts,  —  Geordie  has,  —  lots  — 
an*  now  this  is  the  windin'  up.  The  lad  may  ha'  been 
to  blame,  but  I  can't  help  pityin'  him.  I  hain't  a  grain  «' 
pity,  though,  for  them  that's  ur<>t  this  thing  to  lay  at  their 
door,  not  a  grain,"  —  and  the  smith  became  excit. -d  a- 
he  spoke.  "  I'd  as  soon  take  Geordie's  chance  at  the 
judgment  bar,  any  day,  as  that  o'  them  that  hurried  him 
there." 

u  Wai,  I  couldn't  say  as  I'd  ventur'  on  any  sich  risk  as 
that,"  argued  the  prudent  farmer.  "  There's  a  door  o' 
salvation  allers  left  open  to  them  the  Lord  spares  ;  them 
that  flies  in  his  fare  shuts  it  behind  'em,  to  my  thinkinV 

"  That's  good  reasonin',"  replied  the  .-mith.  ••  but  when 
a  teller's  driv'  past  reasoniu',  he  ain't  more'u  half  re- 
sponsihle  —  that's  my  way  of  argufyin',  an'  I'd  as  soon 
stand  before  God's  bar  this  day  in  Geordie's  place  a-  be- 
hind  the  tavern  bar  in  Stein's;  that's  jest  my  notion  o' 
things  now." 

"Stein's  been  hard  on  the  boy,* I  dare  say?"  The 
farmer  put  this  remark  interrogatively.  The  farmer  was 
a  gossip,  and,  though  cautious  himself,  was  anxious  to 
draw  his  companion  out. 

••  Hard  !  he's  hard  on  every  body's  boy.     I  can't  keep 


A    FEESH  CATASTROPHE.  229 

my  'prentices  away  from  that,  groggery  of  his'n — no,  nor 
my  own  boy  nutlier,  as  to  that,"  muttered  the  smith.  "  I 
tell  yer,"  he  continued  vehemently,  "  that  Stein's  a  fox,  and 
that  tavern  bar's  a  nuisance.  What  else  brings  all  the 
rogues  out  of  York  to  beat  out  old  men's  brains  and  turn 
young  men's  topsy-turvey  ?  " 

"  It's  a  bad  consarn,"  responded  Rycker,  "  but  there's 
temptations  every  where  ;  young  folks  must  keep  out  o" 
the  way  on  'em,  that's  all ;  must  go  round  the  stump,  as 
I  tell  my  Joe.  But,  speakin'  o'  Baultie,  they  say  he  was 
mighty  tight-fisted  with  Geordie.  I  don't  mean  to  say 
no  ill  o'  the  dead,  but  I've  heern  tell  as  how  he  an'  Stein 
together  were  pooty  aggravatin'  in  that  Virginny  road- 
buildin*  business.  I  don't  mean  to  say  'twas  so  —  I've 
merely  heern  tell  on't." 

"  There  ain't  no  question  'twas  jest  so,"  replied  the 
smith  ;  "  they  all  pulled  one  way,  and  that  was  agin  poor 
G-eordie.  Why,  you  see  how  'twas  ;  even  Peter,  Peter 
Stein,  thick-skulled  ninny  as  he  is,  could  come  it  over 
Geordie  in  money  matters." 

"  Take  it  all  together  'twas  pooty  discouragin'"  com 
mented  the  farmer,  in  a  sympathetic  voice  ;  then,  as  if 
fearing  that  he  might  fall  into  the  weakness  of  apologizing 
for  crime,  he  added,  in  an  implacable  tone,  "  'tain't  no 
excuse  though  for  sich  a  cryin'  sin  an'  shame  as  Geordie's 
been  guilty  on  now  —  'tain't  no  excuse,  I  say." 

"  Law,  farmer,"  said  the  smith,  emphatically,  "  'twan't 
any  o'  them  things  did  the  business.  What's  the  use  o' 
mincin'  matters,  goin'  round  and  round  the  stump,  as  you 
20 


•JMO  HA  V  \  7  /   /•    ///•   i  UTS. 

-MV?"  Then,  with  the  air  of  an  attorney  who  has 
reached  thr  vital  point  in  his  argument.  In-  continued, 
••  Them  thinir-  was  irritatin*.  an'  not  him  worked  up  to  arcd 
heat;  but  the  t'other  was  the  hl<nr  " — and  he  1. run-in  hi< 
hand  down  on  the  hack  of  the  farmer's  IH.I-M- .with  the 
same  s\\iii'_r.  it'  not  tin-  same  ton-,-,  with  which  he 
would  have  struck  his  anvil.  Tin-  horse  started.  The 
-mith  was  thrown  off  his  balance. 

'•Who?  what!"  cried  the  tanner  to  the  smith. 
"  Whoa  !  whoa  !  "  to  his  horse. 

••  Why,  that  confounded  <ral  o'  Cousinses,"  answered  the 
smith,  reco \cring  himself;  "if  any  liviu'  bein's  out  and 
out  responsible  for  the  end  the  lad's  eome  ter,  it's  her." 

The  smith  spoke  in  a  torn-  of  a-snrance,  from  which 
there  was  no  appeal.  The  farmer,  without  questioning 
the  fact,  re-ponded,  "Wai.  I've  heerd  our  folks  say 
Geordie  was  soft  in  that  'ere  quarter  —  has  been  allers. 
What's  been  to  pay  there?  I  want  to  know?  Did  she 
give  him  the  slip,  or  what?" 

"  Hang  her  !  I  only  wish  she'd  done  that  long  ago,  an* 
made  a  free  man  on  him  ;  but  stead  o'  that  she's  blown 
hot  an' blown  cold  for  this  dozen  year.  dri\in'  the  poor 
feller  from  fevers  to  njrnr-fits  only  to  ui\c  him  a  death 
blow  at  laM.  If  that  gal's  conscience  don't  gnaw  on  her 
when  she  pits  this  day's  news  —  wal,  it's  because  her 
heart  *|  M  hard  as  my  anvil  yonder." 

"  She's  got  another  sweet  heart,  they  say,"  said  Rycker, 
—  "been  keepin'  company  with  that  young  cap'n  up  at 
the  tavern." 


A   FRESH    CATASTROPHE.  231 

"  'Course  she  has,"  replied  the  smith  ;  "didn't  you  see 
'em  sparkin'  the  night  o'  the  ball  ?  '  What  'ud  Geordie  say 
to  that  ? '  says  I  to  my  old  'ooman  ?  '  The  consated  thing,' 
says  she  ;  '  there  won't  no  good  come  on't ;  now  you  mark 
my  words,  husband,  there  won't  no  good  come  of  Angie 
Cousin's  cuttin'  such  shines  with  that  'ere  stranger  chap.'  " 

"  Geordie  wan't  there  to  hold  his  own,"  remarked  the 
farmer.  "  Geordie  kept  out  o'  the  way  and  give  her  a 
clean  swing  that  night."  • 

"  'Cause  why?  Cause  he  was  cut  out,  and  he  know'd 
it.  Time  has  been  when  Geordie  wouldn't  a  gin  in  to 
nobody  ;  but  whar's  the  use  o'  fightin'  agin  luck  ?  and  all 
Geordie's  good  luck's  desarted  him  o'  late.  I  was  glad 
he  wan't  gawkin'  round  at  the  ball,  for  my  part.  A 
pooty  figur'  he'd  a  made  playin'  second  fiddle  to  that  'ere 
furrin  monkey.  I  wish  he'd  had  the  spunk  to  give  him 
a  drubbin'  next  day,  and  tell  Angie  Cousin  to  go  to 
the  devil  with  her  airs.  Most  any  on  us  would  ha' 
backed  him  up  in  that  'ere.  Howsomever,  if  he  must 
needs  complain  to  her  like  a  baby,  an'  then  go  drown 
himself  like  a  dog,  —  wal  I  —  I  —  I  wish  he'd  been  more 
of  a  man,  I  do  ;  but  I  can't  help  pityin'  him,  nuther." 

"  That's  it ;  he's  died  like  a  dog,"  said  the  farmer, 
catching  at  that  portion  of  the  smith's  commentary  which 
coincided  most  closely  with  his  notions  of  the  nature  of 
George's  crime  and  its  consequences.  "  An'  what's 
more,  he'll  be  buried  like  a  dog ;  an'  the  door  o'  marcy  's 
shut  on  his  soul  same  as  it  would  be  on  what's  left  of  a 
dead  beast.  An'  so  ends  that  branch  o'  the  Rawle  stock  ! 


n.\  r  \  it  i>    ii  :    i  , 


I  see  loir.:  ftgO  that  it  w:ix  comin'  to  ruin.  Van  II 
had  hop.-s  o'  the  ln<l  an'  a  good  word  to  .-peak  I'm'  him: 
can't  say  as  I  had.  Sri-  now  who  \\as  riirht.  It's  a  dis 
graceful  thing  to  ha'  happened  in  an  honest  neighborhood, 
an'  a  warnin'  to  all  young  men  that's  a  runnin'  down  hill. 
I  .-hall  hold  it  over  our  .Joe's  head  if  ever  I  see  him  a 
-eitin'  un.Middy.  But  as  you  say,  in-ighhor,"  in  a  quali 
fying  tone,  "tin'  young  'oouian's  to  blame.  AVhat  did 
she  want  to  be  smirkin'  with  tin-  aristocrisy  fur,  an'  jilt  in' 
a  clf\  cr  .Jar.-ry  Teller  that  she's  known  all  her  life.  Fann- 
>ns  is  good  enough  for  my  gals;  w>»a;'.-  (  <msinscs' 
darler  poi  to  boast  of  that  she  -hould  l.e  allers  aj>iu'  city 
Lfentry.  I  reckon  that  'ere  brass-but  toned  chap  of  a  Brit 
isher's  only  been  inakin*  a  fool  on  her.  IIc'll  de-art  her 
in  a  twiuklin',  like  enough,  an'  sarve  her  ri-_rht." 

"Has  so!"  exclaimed  the  smith;  "was  otf  like  a 
rocket,  an'  never  staid  to  bid  her  good-by  as  I've  hceru 
tell.  Angie  Cousin's  allers  held  her  head  pooty  hii_rh. 
Somehow  she  had  Frenchy  kind  o'  ways  like  the  old  man, 
an*  couldn't  help  bein'  genteel.  Nobody  'd  ha'  liked  her 
the  wuss  for  't  if  she'd  only  behaved  herself  ;  indeed,  she's 
been  a  pop'ler  kind  of  a  gal.  But  she'll  be  pinti-d  at  now 
all  her  days,  an'  .-lie  richly  de-arves  it." 

"  Geordie's  relations  '11  all  be  down  on  her,"  nggettod 
Uvcki-r:  "it'll  help  to  clear  him.  ycr  see,  so  it'll  be 
nateral/' 

"It'll  be  nateral  rnoii^h  they  should  owe  her  a 
grudge.  Van  Hausen  was  a  cussin'  her  last  ni^lit  at  the 
tavern  :  the  l;t>t  words  I  hei-rd  him  kind  o'  mutterin'  in 
his  throat  wa-.  •  (  'u  -  that  -;d.'  " 


A  FRESH  CATASTROPHE.  233 

"He  knew  consid'able  'bout  it,  then?  How  should 
he,  I  wonder?  he  hain't  no  family,  an'  he  ain't  round 
much  to  see  what's  goin'  on  'mong  the  young  folks." 

"  Wai,  it  seems  Angie  owned  up  to  him  the  mornin' 
arter  Baultie's  affair,  that  she  an'  Geordie  'd  quarrelled 
the  day  before,  an'  she  hadn't  seen  him  since,  an'  didn't 
expect  to.  'Twas  that  made  him  so  sure  the  lad  had 
started  oiF  for  Virginny  in  a  huff.  O,  Van  Hausen 
never  minces  matters  ;  when  he  heerd  o'  this  thing  he 
laid  it  all  to  her  door,  same 's  I  do  —  same  as  every  body 
will,  allers." 

"  She's  got  a  great  load  to  bear,  then,"  remarked 
Rycker. 

Apparently  Rycker's  horse,  which,  since  he  had  become 
quieted  after  the  smith's  blow,  had  stood  with  tolerable 
patience  waiting  for  the  conclusion  of  this  dialogue,  had 
come  to  the  conviction  that  he  had  a  great  load  to  bear 
too.  The  smith,  always  a  lounger  when  not  at  work  at 
his  forge,  was  hanging  his  whole  weight  on  the  horse's 
neck.  The  weight  of  the  wagon  was  pressing  on  him 
too  from  behind.  He  now  made  a  restless  motion,  dis 
lodged  the  smith,  and  reminded  his  master  of  business. 

"  Time  I  was  off,"  said  the  latter ;  "  whoa !  whoa, 
there !  won't  you  ? "  and  having  slowly  mounted  his 
wagon,  and  checked  the  restlessness  of  the  horse,  he 
looked  back  at  the  smith  with  an  eye  longing  for  more 
of  the  late  exciting  gossip.  "  Sad  story  I've  got  to  carry 
back  with  me  to  the  farm  —  enough  fur  one  day !  " 
Then,  with  a  quick  after-thought,  "  P'raps  if  I  come 
20* 


//.i  r  A  7  /.  i>    Hi.  .1  /;  /•>. 

lri.-k  this  \v;iy,  you'll  ha'  learned  how  they  take  it  up 
to  the  eottaire  :  how  Margery  hears  it;  what  Baiiltie's 
wi.l.ler  has  to  say  to  the  dominie;  an'  whether  Angie 
Cousin 's  consid'able  took  down.  Sorry  I've  got  to  go 
to  mill  this  morniu'  —  out  n"  the.  way  place;  however, 
the  boss  '11  be  glad  to  hear  the  news.  Whoa  !  "  —  to 
the  horse,  which  had  gone  on  several  paces.  "  Look 
here,"  —  leaning  back,  and  speaking  in  a  raised  voice 
to  the  smith,  who  was  standing  deserted  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  u  you'll  be  down  to  the  tavern,  an'  seein'  the 
ueiirhhors  ;  you'll  pick  up  all  there  is  goin' !  I'll  come 
ha«-k  this  way,  anyhow, —  d'yer  hear?"  —  screaming  otit 
the  question.  "  Find  out  all  ycr  can  !  "  then  in  a  louder 
voice  yet,  as  he  moved  off,  "  d'yer  hear?  " 


BREAKING    THE   NEWS.  235 


CHAPTER  XV. 

BREAKING   THE    NEWS. 

DOMINIE  VAN  ZANDT  was  a  man  whose  doctrine 
was  as  hard  as  the  nether  millstone,  and  whose  heart 
Was  as  soft  as  the  lily-cup  that  floats  in  the  sun  just 
above  the  mill-wheel,  and  knows  nothing  about  the 
grinding  process  that  is  going  on  below. 

As  the  dominie  drove  past  the  tavern  in  his  '  shay/ 
steeling  himself,  as  he  best  could,  with  the  thought  of 
sin,  judgment,  and  endless  perdition,  he  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  the  awful  and  willing  messenger  of  doom. 
As  he  stood  at  the  cottage  door,  and  knocked,  his  pit-a- 
pit  touch  sounded  as  if  he  feared  rousing  the  inmates 
rather  than  as  if  he  craved  admittance. 

Angie  opened  the  door.  He  thanked  her  by  laying 
his  hand  kindly  on  her  head.  A  gentle  benediction  — 
her  head  too  !  —  a  spot  on  which  thunderbolts  of  blame 
and  retribution  ought  rather  to  fall !  and  he  knew  it. 
What  business  had  he  to  leave  a  blessing  there  instead  ? 

How  it  awed  her  —  poor  girl !  and  added  to  her  fright 
at  seeing  the  dominie. 

He   passed   into   the   kitchen.     The   two  old  women 


H  A  I    \ 


-ittinir  opposite  cadi  other  :it  tin-  two  sides  of  the 
fireplace.  He  saluted  them  with  his  old-fa-hioncd 
cuiirioy,  and  took  a  chair,  which  An-ic  placed  tor  him 

hctweeii   them. 

Then  lie  couched.  —  couched  badly;  it  was  severe 
weather  for  old  men,  even  robust  old  men,  like  him  : 
why  shouldn't  be  cough,  and  blow  bis  nose,  and 
stammer,  and  cough  again? 

Margery  sat  staring  at  him  like  one  petrified.  II 
nah's  bead  was  obstinately  turned  away.  Kadi  believed 
herself  the  object  of  his  visit.  Margery  felt  as  the 
victim  of  some  secret  and  gnawing  cancer  might  feel, 
who  sees  in  every  new  comer  the  expected  surgeon,  and 
suspects  that  he  has  a  sharp  knife  in  his  pocket,  llan- 
hah  had  already  known  something  of  his  practice,  for  he 
had  made  one  professional  visit  to  the  cottage  since 
Baultie's  death,  and  finding  her  in  a  vindictive  state  of 
mind,  had  exercised  his  gifts  in  her  behalf  by  warning 
her  of  a  wrath  more  mighty  than  her  own,  of  which  la- 
assured  her  she  had  plainly  been  made  the  subject  in  the 
late  signal  event  in  her  household  —  a  style  of  reasoning 
which  had  only  -erved  to  harden  her  the  more.  This 
wrath  which  lie  spoke  of  was  the  same  with  which 
she  had  threatened  1'olly  Stein;  but  it  was  quite  another 
thing  to  ha\e  the  arm  of  terror  rai-ed  against  herself, 
so  that  she  now  turned  her  back  upon  him,  offended  and 
obdurate.  Neither  of  tln-e  old  women  knew  how  tender 
the  dominie  could  be  when  he  Idt  himself  off'  duty. 

"  My  vi.-it  to-day  is  to  you,  ma'am,"  \v.  n   his  opening 


BREAKING    THE   NEWS.  237 

\vords,  addressed  to  Margery.  Hannah  edged  round  in 
her  chair  at  this  ;  Margery  clung  to  the  arms  of  hers. 

"  My  errand  is  a  painful  one,  ma'am,  very  ;  your  son 

George "  here  he  faltered.  Hannah  bent  forward 

eagerly,  Margery  only  stared  with  glassy  eyes — "has 
met  with  a  sad  fate." 

At  this  there  was  a  bound  from  the  further  side  of  the 
kitchen,  and  two  young,  strong  arms  were  flung  round 
Margery,  who  involuntarily  relaxed  her  hold  upon  the 
arms  of  her  chair,  and  accepted  the  living  support  thus 
afforded  her.  Standing  with  George's  mother  pressed  to 
her  bosom,  her  form  braced  up  to  meet  the  shock,  and  a 
dilated  eye  that  for  the  moment  put  fate  at  defiance, 
Angie  awaited  the  next  word. 

"  Once  have  I  spoken,  twice,  also,  hast  thou  heard  it," 
said  the  minister,  "  that  power  belongeth  unto  God. 
Truly  the  Lord's  hand  is  heavy  upon  this  house.  The 
voice  of  his  warning  has  but  yesterday  been  heard  on  the 
mountain-top,"  —  and  he  waved  his  hand  solemnly  in  the 
direction  of  Hannah  ;  "  and  now,"  fixing  his  eye  sympa 
thetically  on  Margery  ;  "  the  sea  has  given  up  its  dead. 
Your  son's  been  missing,  I  hear,  for  this  ten  days,  ma'am. 
Still  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  a  great  shock,  when  I  tell  you 
that  they've  found "  here  the  minister  faltered. 

"Found  what?"  screamed  Hannah,  whose  ear  had 
caught  her  nephew's  name,  and  an  allusion  to  some 
discovery,  and  whose  quick  eye  saw  that  the  minister 
hesitated,  and  that  her  sister-in-law  had  no  courage  to 
bid  him  proceed. 


2.H.S  HA  I    \   i  1   I>     Hi     1  I, 

"  His  body!"  —  spoken  impressively,  and  in  a  tone 
meant  lor  deaf  as  well  as  hearing  cars. 

As  he  nttere.l  the  fatal  words,  —  before  he  uttered 
them  even  —  when  they  had  merely  framed  them.-elves 
visibly  on  his  lips,  —  Annie's  arms  were  loosened  from 
their  embrace  of  Margery;  all  the  fibres  of  her  body, 
.-<>  -trained  an  instant  before,  suddenly  slackened,  and  as 
if  smitten  by  the  thunderbolt,  whose  stroke  she  was 
deemed  to  merit,  she  sank  down,  down  to  the  very  floor, 
tri\  ini:  utterance  to  no  sound  —  simply  sliding  lower  and 
lower,  until  her  knees  touched  the  hearth  at  Margery's 
feet.  She  cast  one  look  upward  at  the  agonized  features 
of  the  mother,  met  an  answering  look,  which  none  but 
she  could  understand,  then  buried  her  face  in  the  old 
woman's  lap,  and  two  withered  hands  were  crossed  on 
the  ho  wed  head. 

And  so  they  met  the  shock.  In  a  silence,  awful,  stony, 
unbroken  by  word  or  cry,  they  sustained  themselves 
under  this  new  crisis  —  sustained  each  other,  too ;  for 
the  young  arms  that  infolded  the  old  frame,  and  would 
have  >hielded  it  if  they  could,  and  the  old  hands  that 
dropped  protectingly  on  the  youiii:  head,  were  the  >eaN 
to  a  league  of  mutual  Mij.j.ort  and  faith  as  solemn  as  if 
confirmed  by  an  oath. 

And  that  was  all.  They  asked  no  questions.  They 
had  no  need  to  ask  any  ;  they  saw  it  all ;  —  the  despera 
tion,  the  iruilt,  the  flight,  the  remorse,  the  madn.-.->.  the 
Miieide.  All  but  the  last  act  of  tin-  drama  had  l.een  lived 
over  by  them  already.  Heart-  that  had  ahuo.-t 


BREAKING    THE   NEWS.  239 

to  beat  at  the  awful  dread  that  he  might  some  day  ven 
ture  to  return ;  souls  that  had  trembled  at  their  own 
vital  union  with  his  soul,  wandering,  living,  and  yet  lost ; 
eyes  that  had  looked,  night  and  day,  on  a  vision  of  pris 
ons,  scaffolds,  and  his  strangled  corpse  ;  ears  that  had 
rung  with  the  world's  hiss,  and  his  despairing  cry, — 
what  was  there  left  that  could  strike  horror  into  such  ? 
Nothing  but  the  fulfilment  of  their  worst  fears.  Cer 
tainly  not  the  cold,  watery  grave  with  its  secrecy,  its 
silence,  and  its  long  repose. 

True,  there  was  the  added  crime  of  self-destruction. 
But  what  of  that?  Justice  had  condemned  him  already, 
the  strictest  creed  could  do  no  more,  they  thought ;  or 
rather,  did  they  think  at  all?  could  they?  These  two 
poor  women  had  not  the  moral  courage  to  balance 
against  the  horrors  of  discovery  the  ray  of  hope  life 
might  yet  offer  to  his  soul,  and  so  bargain  for  shame 
that  repentance  might  ensue.  They  had  not  logic 
enough  to  calculate  thus,  nor  Christian  faith  and  forti 
tude  enough  bravely  to  meet  and  bear  God's  will  in  any 
case.  In  this  moment  of  dread  they  could  only  take 
counsel  of  their  fears,  and  with  a  sense  of  relief  mingling 
with  their  agony,  forget  to  re-condemn  the  criminal, 
while  assenting  to  the  whisper  of  their  timid  hearts, 
"  better  death  than  betrayal." 

So  they  bore  up  wonderfully,  as  people  say.  Hannah 
Rawle  and  the  dominie  never  said  so,  though  ;  not,  at  least, 
in  any  congratulatory  sense.  They  Avondered,  neverthe 
less,  each  in  a  characteristic  way,  and  came  to  wholly 
diverse  conclusions,  satisfactory  to  neither. 


240  n  ••' ' '  -v 

"Murder!"  was  the  emphatic  a— r\  eration  with 
which  llaunah  atoned  for  every  body's  else  silence  after 
the  first  announcement. 

The  dominie  shook  his  head,  at  the  same  time  watch 
ing  Margery,  iiot  Hannah,  for  the  effect  of  his  words. 

"  Not  murder?  Accident,  then  !  Good  Lud  !  how  did 
it  happen?" 

Again  the  dominie  shook  his  head,  still  anxiously 
measuring  with  his  eye  the  mother's  power  of  endur 
ance,  as  well  as  that  of  Angle,  who  had  risen  and  stood 
beside  Margery,  rigid  and  calm.  Hannah,  also,  shot  a 
glance  at  them,  an  indignant  glance.  u  Are  those  women 
made  of  stone?"  she  thought.  "  Don't  they  care  what's 
become  of  the  boy  ?  Has  nobody  but  me  any  interest  in 
this  matter?"  and  she  proceeded  with  her  questioning. 

And  so,  by  a  few  vehement  queries,  she  extracted  all 
that  the  minister  knew,  stabbing  Margery  and  Angie 
witli  her  eyes  between  whiles,  and  condemning  them  for 
what  she  thought  their  unnatural  want  of  feeling. 

Want  of  feeling!  As  if  Hannah  knew  what  torture 
may  precede  palsy!  what  a  winter  of  grief  torpor  may 
Ill-token!  O,  the  presumption  of  those  who  dare  to 
fathom  other  souls,  to  take  the  measure  of  another's 
grief,  to  weigh  human  woe  !  They  know  as  much  about 
it,  perhaps,  as  Hannah  knew  of  the  meaning  of  tho.-e 
glazed,  tearless  eyes,  those  mute,  uncomplaining  lips, 
that  rigid,  patient  posture,  and  no  more  ! 

How  much  the  minister  knew  about  it,  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  Tt  astonished  him,  for  he  had  never  witnessed 


BREAKING    THE   NEWS.  241 

such  an  instance  before  in  all  his  round  of  pastoral  duty. 
But  he  knew  enough  to  respect  it.  It  reacted  on  him, 
too,  like  a  spell,  putting  to  flight  all  his  harsh  dogmas, 
checking  his  preconceived  condemnation  of  the  crime  he 
had  come  hither  to  stigmatize  as  the  unpardonable  sin  of 
Scripture  ;  silencing  his  warning  against  the  spiritual  con 
tagion  that  mere  sympathy  with  the  poor  criminal  might 
involve  ;  humbling  the  pride  of  the  preacher,  who  pre 
sumes  to  sit  in  judgment ;  in  a  word,  lifting  his  theology, 
at  a  bound,  to  a  level  with  his  heart. 

Gossip  gained  nothing  from  the  report  of  Dominie  Van 
Zandt.  "  They  took  it  very  quietly :  they  said  noth 
ing,"  was  all  that  curiosity  could  extract  from  him  ;  and 
when,  on  Sunday  next,  an  unusually  large  congregation 
assembled  in  anticipation  of  a  hot  vindication  of  the 
truth,  that  repeated  afflictions  in  a  household  are  signal 
proofs  of  God's  relentless  anger  against  those  predestined 
to  wrath,  many  were  disappointed  at  the  meekness  of 
his  text,  —  "I  was  dumb  ;  I  opened  not  my  mouth,  be 
cause  thou  didst  it." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  good  man  found 
nothing  to  say,  in  vindication  of  God's  wrath,  or  in  con 
demnation  of  man's  guilt.  Impressed  and  awed  by  a 
vague  sense  of  mystery,  he  could  only  exclaim  to  himself, 
or  to  others,  "  How  unsearchable  are  his  judgments,  and 
his  ways  past  finding  out." 
21 


242  HA  VN  n:  f>    H  i:  .1  /:  /  x. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

I  HI-:    LONG    WATCH    OVER. 

THERE  were  three  palpable  iv.-nli>  of  this  fresh  catas 
trophe  in  the  Rawle  family.  Angie  went  home  to  her 
father,  Margery  sank  into  a  nonentity,  Hannah  ruled  the 
house.  There  was  no  motive  for  Augie's  further  contin- 
uance  at  tin-  cottage,  nor  did  Margery  remonstrate,  even 
by  a  look,  when  she  said,  '•  I  will  carry  our  bed  up 
stairs;  you  will  not  mind  slccpin.ir  with  In  r  now  (point 
ing  to  Hannah)  ;  I  will  go  home  to-night."  The  period 
of  watching  and  suspense  was  over,  that  of  endurance 
simply  was  begun.  So  long  as  they  were  peering 
into  each  ni«rht's  darkness  in  expectation  of  catrhini: 
some  glimpse  of  the  fugitive,  so  long  as  they  fancied 
they  heard  his  cry  in  every  whistle  «>{'  the  night  wind, 
they  had  in-tinctivoly  looked  to  each  other  for  aid  in 
some  po»iMe  i  mergency ;  but  now  that  he  lay  stiff, 
Mark,  and  Mill,  now  that  lie  had  surrendered  himself  to 
the  last  enemy,  Death,  all  les.-er  powers  \\eiv  dis 
banded,  and  the  long  watch  was  over.  Margery  felt 
that  henceforth  she  could  lie  down  by  the  side  of  Han- 


THE   LONG    WATCH   OVER.  243 

nab, —  of  Hannah,  the  avenger  still,  in  heart,  but  the 
avenger  disarmed.  Angle  realized  that  the  necessity  for 
cooperation  between  herself  and  Margery  was  past ;  that 
their  suffering  would  be  none  the  less  mutual  because 
endured  apart,  and  that  her  only  rightful  place  was 
home. 

Home  !  word  of  so  much  meaning  to  the  happy  !  of  so 
much  more  to  the  miserable !  The  place  where  the 
highest  joy  is  concentrated !  the  corner  in  which  the 
deepest  grief  may  hide  !  the  garden  where  Innocence 
sports  in  the  sunshine !  the  only  shady  spot  in  which 
Remorse  can  find  a  grave  ! 

Poor  Angie  !  A  little  while  ago  so  bright,  so  beauti 
ful,  so  gay  a  thing,  it  seems  hard  to  consign  her  thus  to 
a  dreary  tomb.  But  to  the  heart  crushed  out  of  life,  the 
hopes  annihilated,  the  soul  given  over  to  contrition  and 
despair,  what  is  there  left  but  burial  ?  For  a  while  we 
must  leave  her  then  to  solitude,  darkness,  and  the  undy 
ing  worm. 

And  Margery  !  O  mothers,  pity  her  !  Sometimes  she 
went  wandering  round  the  house,  with  that  strange  rest 
lessness  which  no  change  of  place  can  satisfy,  no  bodily 
weariness  exhaust.  Sometimes  she  sat  gazing  at  one 
spot  for  hours,  her  hands,  —  O,  who  does  not  know 
the  expression  of  grief-struck  hands?  —  no  tongue  can 
tell  to  those  whom  sorrow  has  not  initiated,  —  no  eye 
but  that  of  sympathy  can  detect  that  mute  holding 
on  to  each  other  on  the  part  of  despairing  hands.  It 
is  the  silent  griefs  that  hide  thus  between  the  palms ; 


244  HAUtt  TED   HEARTS. 

and  Margery'.-  urief.  from  first  to  last,  was  dumb. 
Tho.-r  continual  complaints,  those  long-drawu  sigh.-. 
those  M-ll-pitying  ejaculation-  which  had  hccu  her  dis 
tinguishing  rhararteri.-tie.  had  all  died  into  the  Still 
depth  ol'  an  unbroken  .-ilencc.  Whether  it  were  cau 
tion,  or  fear,  or  the  very  paralysis  of  despair,  her  lips 
henceforth  rei'u.-cd  the  common  utterances  of  sorrow; 
her  bo.-om  heaved  no  groans  ;  tin-  ••  ( )  dear.-  !  "  and  the 
w-  Ah,  me's  !  "  of  her  former  lile  had  .-hrunk  disn. 
from  the  presence  of  a  blasting  woe. 

Only  sympathy  could  comprehend  this,  and  Hannah 
Ilawle  possessed  no  such  spiritual  talisman.  Hannah 
was  a  strong  woman.  Well  might  she  be.  Her  nature 
was  one  of  those  that  tind  \ciit  for  tlieinsel\e>.  and  she 
had  never  been  chafed  and  worn  away  in  any  \i;al  part 
by  emotions  that  gnaw  inwardly  and  sap  the  life.  Her 
grief  at  her  husband's  death  had  half  exploded  already 
in  fierce  in\ecti\es  and  threats  Against  his  murder 
ers,  and  in  like  manner  her  vexation,  for  Mich  it  miirht 
well  be  termed,  at  George's  wretched  fate,  was  destined 
to  find  an  outlet  in  alternate  reproaches  of  the  poor 
youth  and  ivuivt  at  hi-  untimely  end.  She  put  a  con 
straint  upon  hei-M-lf,  indeed,  during  the  minister's  visit, 
which  was  brief.  She  didn't  want  any  of  his  consola 
tion,  she  .-aid.  She'd  had  i-nougli  of  it.  Hut  henccfor- 
\\ard  .-he.  olliciated,  both  outwardh  'and  in  her  own  esti 
mation,  a-  head  of  the  hou.-ehold  and  chief  mourner.  Not 
that  she  put  on  mournin_r.  as  the  saying  is,  or  claimed 
the  commiseration  of  the  neighborhood.  Far  from  it. 


THE   LONG    WATCH    OVER.  245 

Nobody  wore  mourning  for  Baultie  or  Geordie  either. 
Their  relations  were  all  too  poor,  too  niggardly,  or  too 
primitive  for  that.  Neither  did  Haimah  crave  any  body's 
pity,  nor  tolerate  visits  of  condolence,  which,  fortunately, 
few  persons  dreamed  of  paying.  But  it  was  she  alone, 
who,  from  this  time,  presumed  to  lift  the  veil  which  was 
suffered  to  rest  upon  the  past.  She  alone  ventured  to 
compare  what  was,  with  what  had,  or  might  have  been, 
and  lament  the  bitterness  of  the  household  lot ;  thus  per 
forming,  after  a  fashion,  her  share,  and,  as  she  believed, 
more  than  her  share,  of  the  mourning  ;  an  office  which 
did  not  prevent  her  also  usurping  the  direction  of  affairs, 
and  by  her  own  native  force  of  character,  taking  imme 
diate  precedence  of  Margery  in  all  things  pertaining  to 
their  mutual  welfare. 

"  Of  course,  as  things  has  turned  out  so  misfortunate, 
I  shall  jest  keep  on  here  'long  with  Margery,"  was  her 
mental  resolve.  "  Margery  's  a  poor,  weak  critter ! 
Only  look  at  her  now,  potterin'  round  as  if  she  was 
tryin'  to  hunt  up  her  scattered  wits.  She's  a  poor, 
broken-down  thing,  an'  don't  more'n  half  know  what 
she's  about.  Why,  she's  acted  as  if  she  was  afeard 
fur  her  life  ever  since  they  killed  my  old  man,  till  now  ; 
an'  now  she  don't  seem  to  have  life  enough  left  in  her 
to  feel  any  great  struck  up  about  Geordie.  Why,  I've 
seen  her  take  on  wuss  when  the  potatoes  got  scorched 
agin  the  bottom  o'  the  pot  in  the  bilin'.  It's  lucky 
Geordie  's  got  me  to  grieve  for  him "  (and  a  great 
involuntary  tear  rolling  down  her  cheek  testified  to  the 
21* 


•j  H;  HA  u  \  i  j:  i>   n  t  .//:/•<. 

-incerity  with  \vhii-h  .-In-  fulfilled  her  olliee.  I'm-  Hannah, 
-tern.  iv.-er\ed  nature  allied  her  to  but  few.  had 
iv.tlly  lo\ed  tin-  lad), —  ••  ye-,  i;'-  lucky  he's  got  one  raal 
mourner,  I'm-  hi<  mother  hain't  got  -peril  enough  I 
any  n'  the  >hame  «.r  s«»rn-r  that  >lu-  oii'jht  ti-r  on  his 
ji«-'-o iint,  an'  the  gal  si-rin<  a-  «-..ol  a-  a  OOWCHmb«r  tOO, 
(  .i:i-i,l,-riir  -lie  au'  Geonlic  's  luvii  >ji:irkin*  to^-tluT  lliis 
dozen  year." 

Margery's  helplessness  and  inefiiciency  being  assumed, 
and  Hannah's  prerogative  nii(|ncstioned  i'roin  the  lir-t.  it 
naturally  devolved  on  the  latter  to  receive  and  act  upon 
her  brother  Dick's  report  of  the  result  of  his  painlnl 
investigations  into  the  fact  of  George's  death,  with  all 
the  attendant  circumstances,  so  far  as  they  wen;  revealed, 
—  such  as  the  identification  of  the  body,  the  time,  man 
ner,  ai.d  place  of  the  event,  and  it>  probable  motive  and 
cause. 

With  respect  to  the  last  point  only  could  there  be  any 
opportunity  for  doubt  or  discussion.  The  rest  resolved 
itself  into  a  series  of  statements  sufficiently  proved,  and 
leaving  no  ground  for  further  iinpiiiy  or  hope. 

"  lt'>  him? — you've  .seen  him?  —  he's  dead,  then?  — 
it's  all  tone?" 

1.  <  !i  of  ihe.-e  <|!ie-tinn->  was  responded  to  by  a  confir 
matory  nod  on  the  part  of  Van  Ilaiisen,  —  solemn,  awful 
nods,  —  a  stroke  of  fate  each.  1'erhaps  it  \\  a  -  dread  of 
the  effect  of  his  communication  ;  pei-hap*  it  wa-  the 
natural  reticence  of  a  man  who  had  looked  on  things 
unutterahlc  ;  po»ibly  it  \\  as  merely  because  Hannah, 


THE   LONG    WATCH    OVER,  247 

who  had  put  the  questions,  was  keen-eyed  and  dull  of 
ear,  that  he  nodded  and  did  not  speak.  He  had  come  in 
just  at  dusk,  leaving  the  horse,  on  which  he  had  ridden 
to  and  from  the  city,  since  morning,  saddled  outside.  He 
had  laid  a  clumsy  bundle  on  the  table  as  he  entered,  and 
had  seated  himself  in  a  chair  close  against  the  wall. 

Hannah  groaned  aloud  ;  Margery,  seemingly  playing  the 
second  part,  only  looked  and  listened  in  her  vacant  way. 
Angie,  who  had  purposely  delayed  going  home  until  after 
Van  Hausen's  anxiously  expected  visit,  but  who  dreaded 
to  encounter  him  face  to  face,  gazed  tremblingly  out 
from  the  corner  of  a  dark  passage  in  the  cellar-way, 
where  she  had  taken  refuge  on  his  entrance. 

So  much  had  already  been  comprehended  in  Hannah's 
brief  questions  and  Van  Hausen's  nods,  that  it  seemed  for 
a  moment  as  if  there  was  nothing  more  to  ask  or  answer. 
Van  Hausen  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  feel  in  his 
pocket  for  a  second  parcel,  rise,  and  lay  it  beside  the 
larger  bundle  on  the  table,  and  then  sit  down  again.  All 
eyes  followed  him,  and  fastened  themselves  on  the  tabie, 
burdened  as  it  was  with  these  sad  trophies. 

"  His  things?"  murmured  Hannah. 

Dick  nodded  again. 

Margery  rose,  went  to  the  table,  and  bent  over  it. 

"  Where  did  he  jump  off?  "  was  Hannah's  next  bald 
question. 

Dick  shook  his  head  from  side  to  side,  intimating  that 
he  didn't  know. 

Margery  had  meanwhile  untied  the  silk  handkerchief, — 


LM  s  II  \  :    \   I  l   i>    ll  l-    .-  •  , 

• '-  Irmdkerchief. —  in  which  tin-  well-known  coat. 
—  his  coat.  wa>  wrapped.  Now  .-he  drew  tin-  outer 
of  the  handkerchief  .-lowly  betuecii  her  thnnih  and  foiv- 
tin-jvr.  as  it'  inca.-uring  it.  length  and  breadth;  then  un 
folded  the  eoat,  and  one  after  another,  passed  the  palm 
of  her  hand  gent  Iv  over  eaeh  ot'  its  LTeut  .-iher  buttons, — 
anee.-tral  buttons,  —  the  only  relic  of  old  Hans'  prosperity 
that  fell  to  Margery's  share.  How  often  she  had  pol 
ished  them  for  Sundays  !  How  sadly  the  tarnished  things 
needed  it  now ! 

Then  she  let  the  coat  drop  suddenly  from  her  hands, 
as  if,  burdened  with  a  weight  of  memories,  it  had  proved 
too  heavy  for  her  to  hold  ;  but  she  still  hovered  over  the 
table.  They  all  watched  her.  Angie  leaned  forward 
from  the  cellar- way,  in  the  rear  of  Dick's  chair  ;  —  with 
one  shrinking  eye  on  him,  she  strained  the  other  in  the 
direction  of  Margery. 

The  poor  mother  had  taken  fresh  courage,  had  convul 
sively  unfolded  the  le.-ser  parcel,  and  was  examining  its 
contents. 

••  His  watch?"  asked  Hannah  of  her  brother,  as  Mar 
gery  grasped  the  rn-tv  silver  time-piece,  and  the  hca\\- 
linked  chain  and  old-fa-hioned  seal  rattled  with  a  fa 
miliar  click. —  familiar  to  the  mother'.-  ear  long  before 
the  younger  George  was  born  (for  the  watch  had  been 
hi-  lather's.  —  the  family  heirloom  on  the  Rawle  side). 

The   question  wa-   re-ponded   to   by  another  MM 
nod  from  Dick,  who,   rising,    laid   his  fmirer   hupp-  — i\  e!\ 
on  the  face  of  the  watch,   the  rusty  hands  of  which   still 


THE    LONG     WATCH    OVER.  249 

pointed  out  the  hour  —  half-past  two.  They  all  shud 
dered  ;  they  knew  that  that  was  the  hour  which  had 
sounded  George's  death-knell. 

It  was  more  than  the  poor  mother  could  bear  to  look 
upon.  She  closed  one  hand  over  the  watch,  jealously 
hiding  it,  even  from  her  own  eyes.  Perhaps  she  dreaded, 
lest  the  thing  which  had  once  seemed  endowed  with  life, 
and  still  had  power  to  reveal  a  truth,  might  speak  out 
and  betray  all.  However  that  might  be,  she  clutched  it 
instinctively,  gathered  up  the  coat  and  handkerchief  in 
her  feeble,  trembling  arms,  and,  without  waiting  for  any 
further  revelation,  crept  from  the  room,  and  went  totter 
ing  with  her  burdens  up  the  narrow  stairway  to  George's 
attic,  there  to  hide  these  new  tokens  of  her  misery  in  the 
place  where  they  had  once  belonged. 

Van  Hausen  drew  a  long  breath  when  she  had  gone.  His 
tongue  seemed  loosened  too.  Rough-grained  as  he  might 
be,  his  childlike  simplicity  of  heart  interpreted  Margery's 
condition  more  truly  than  Hannah,  or  even  the  dominie, 
had  interpreted  it.  Touched,  as  the  friends  of  Job  were  by 
the  greatness  of  his  calamity,  he  had  not  ventured  to  speak 
a  word  unto  her,  for  he  saw  that  her  grief  was  very  great. 

"  What  a  day's  work  this  has  been  for  a  man !  "  he 
exclaimed,  when  she  had  gone.  "Thank  God,  it's  about 
over." 

"  Was  he  much  changed?  "  inquired  Hannah,  who  did 
not  hear  her  brother's  exclamation ;  but  who,  in  the 
greater  license  afforded  by  Margery's  absence,  could  no 
longer  restrain  her  anxiety  for  the  particulars. 


•J.'.n  ii  A  i  .\  TMD   H  i.  A  n  i 

"Purty  consid'able,"  said  Dick.  "  Don't  ask  me! 
Taiu't  no  need  to  say  nuthin  'bout  it  to  far  nuther," — 
pointing  in  the  direction  where  Margery  had  disap 
peared. 

"  Law.  -he  hain't  no  curosity,  not  a  mite,"  said  Han 
nah  ;  "  she's  jot  dumb-founded.  How  long  since  it 
happened,  do  yer  B*pOM  ''  " 

••  Ni;_di  mi  terthe  time  he's  been  missin'.  If  he'd  given 
himself  a  chance  to  come  to  his  senses  he  wouldn't  ha' 
done  it.  But  that  gal  jest  sent  him  to  destruction  flyin'." 

"  AVhat  gal?" 

"  That  piece  o*  mischief  you've  been  harborin'  here, — 
that  darter  o'  Cousinses,  —  my  cuss  on  her,  and  the  cuss 
of  all  honest  folks!  AVhat's  tluu?"  and  Dick  turned 
suddenly  in  lii-  chair. 

It  was  only  a  movement,  —  a  slight  rustling  sound  in 
the  < -, -liar-way  —  too  slight  a  sound  for  Hannah  to  notice, 
—  and  Dick,  concliulin;:  it  was  rats,  righted  himself 
almost  immediately  in  his  seat. 

Angie,  who  had  already  hoard  too  much,  poor  thing ! 
waited  for  no  more  :  hut  as  soon  as  >he  had  recovered 
from  the  shock  Dick's  words  had  iriveii  her,  and  made 
sure  that  >ln-  wa-  mid; -<•« >\  ered.  crept  Mealthily  down  the 
cellar  Main*,  and  t'onnd  her  way  out  of  the  hoii-e  hy  an 
ignoniiniou-  pa --age,  ordinarily  used  only  by  the  rats, 
the  t're(|iiencv  of  whose  prcseiiee  in  tliesc  (jiiarters  had 

Secured  and  eovered  her  rel! 

••  l-'nd'j.  •:  "  .-niil  Hannah;  "  don't  tell  me  that.  The 
boy  wan't  sich  a  t« >«•!." 


THE   LONG    WATCH   OVER.  251 

"  He  was,  though ;  an'  he  ain't  the  fust  man  that's 
been  driven  to  perdition  by  a  woman !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  You  may  tell  me  that  till  you're  black 
an'  blue,  Dick.  I  don't  b'lieve  it.  What  in  the  world 
could  a  chit  like  her  do  to  bring  Geordie  to  sich  a 
pass?"  ' 

"  Jilt  him !  turn  the  cold  shoulder  on  him !  threaten 
him  !  turn  him  out  o'  doors,  an'  the  like  !  " 

"  My  stars  !  "  cried  Hannah,  firing  up,  and  becoming 
Angie's  champion  at  once,  for  she  saw  the  drift  of  Dick's 
argument,  "  has  a  gal  got  to  take  up  with  whoever 
comes  loafin'  round,  fur  fear  the  feller  '11  drown  himself  ? 
Next  thing,  like  's  not,  you'll  be  blamin'  his  uncle  Baultie 
an'  me  fur  what's  happened  !  " 

"  Wai,  p'raps  you  was  to  blame  some,"  growled  Dick, 
bluntly. 

"  No  we  wan't,  nuther,"  said  Hannah,  emphatically, 
giving  herself  a  mental  jerk  to  clear  her  conscience  of 
such  little  scruples  as  might  adhere  to  it  on  this  point. 
"  What's  the  use,  Dick,  of  accusin'  the  innocent,  to  say 
nothin'  o'  the  dead,  for  the  sake  o'  clearin'  the  guilty? 
Jest  -as  if  his  uncle  an'  me  wouldn't  ha'  got  over  any  thing 
we  had  agin  the  lad,  as  soon  as  he  showed  himself  a  little 
bit  stiddy  !  Why,  Baultie  was  as  low-sperited  as  ever  I 
seen  him  the  night  afore  he  died  ;  an'  I  more'n  half  mis 
trusted  'twas  about  the  lad,  though  he  never  let  on  a 
word  to  me.  He'd  only  held  a  tight  rein  with  the  boy, 
same  as  he  would  with  a  young  colt.  No,"  —  with  an 
other  spasmodic  resolve,  —  "  Baultie  wan't  responsible. 


HA  UN  TED    II  K   \  A 

nor  tin-  gal  nuthcr.  Plaguy  1«>..1  !  \\-liy  couldn't  he 
show  a  little  more  grit?  lie  must  lia'  had  an  a  \\iul 
weak  streak  ill  him,  jest  like  liis  mother.  It  he'd  ouly 
known  how  to  hold  his  own.  In-  might  ha'  come  in  1'ur  a, 
-hare  in  his  uncle  Baultie's  money, —  at  K-a-t  in  what's 
left  on't, —  an'  might  ha'  lived  'loiig  of  his  mother  an'  me, 
tan'  p'raps  ha'  married  the  gal,  arter  all ;  who  knows?  But 
i'stead  o'  that  he  inu.-t  in-nl>  add  .-in  to  sin,  an'  crown  all 
by  destroyin'  himself,  soul  an'  body,  an'  shamiu'  all  hi- 
relations  inter  the  bargain !  No,  you  needn't  tell  me 
nothin'  about  it ;  you  allers  was  soft  on  Geordie,  Dick,  an' 
that  jest  spiles  yer  judgment.  There's  nobody  to  blame 
but  himself;  but  there,  what's  the  use  o' talkin' ?  —  the 
poor  lad's  dead  an'  gone,  an'  there's  the  end  on't." 

"  Not  quite  the  end  !  "  said  Dick,  in  a  gruff  voice,  and 
with  an  obstinate  expression  of  face,  which  showed  how 
litilt-  he  was  convinced  or  disturbed  by  his  sister's  reason 
ing.  "  I  have  my  'pinions,  and  shall  hold  on  to  'em  :  I  nit 
I'm  not  much  of  a  man  for  a  talk  ;  what  I'm  wait  in'  hero 
fur  's  to  consult  with  his  mother  about  what's  to  be  done 
with  the  body." 

"I  vum,  I  never  thought  <•'  that!"  said  Hannah: 
"  but  it's  no  use  consultiu'  Margery.  She  wouldn't  havr 
a  clear  idee  in  the  matter.  Ain't  there  any  place  down 
ter  York  for  disposin'  o'  cases  like  this  'ere.  Of  course 
you  wouldn't  think  o'  bringin'  him  hoiiu-?" 

"  Wai.  I  dun  know  'hunt  that." 

M  Dun  know.  Why.  Dick,  what  arc  ycr  thinkiif  on? 
Bring  him  here  to  be  pinted  at,  an'  not  allowed  Chri.-tian 


THE    LONG     WATCH    OVER.  253 

burial ;  p'raps  be  placed  down  there  at  the  cross-roads 
as  a  warnin'.  I  declare  agin  that  in  the  name  o'  the 
family,  an'  o'  common  sense  ;  't  would  make  more  talk 
than  a  leetle,  an'  be  a  lastin'  disgrace." 

"  Didn't  think  o'  that !  "  said  Dick,  musingly  ;  "  don't 
want  to  make  more  talk  'bout  the  lad  than  's  necessary. 
P'raps,  arter  all,  I'd  better  let  the  city  folks  manage 
same  's  usual  in  these  cases.  They'll  give  him  six  foot 
*o'  ground  somewher',  I  s'pose,  —  an*  that's  all  any  body 
can  make  use  on." 

"  Consecrated  ground  ?"  asked  Hannah,  emphatically. 

"Consecrated!  yes.  The  arth  's  the  Lord's  —  the 
whole  on't,"  said  Dick.  "  The  Stein's  Plains  folks  can 
narrer  down  their  buryin'-ground  to  suit  the  width  o'  their 
notions.  But  the  Lord  Almighty  asks  no  questions  ;  an' 
trust  me,  I  '11  find  a  place  for  the  poor  lad  somewher'  in 
his  soil,  and  leave  him  in  the  care  of  the  original  Pro 
prietor,  to  wait  until  the  day  of  the  resurrection." 

"  And  the  Lord  have  marcy  on  his  soul ! "  said  Hannah, 
with  a  groan,  that  implied  the  hopelessness  of  her  prayer. 

u  I  ain't  afraid  but  he  will,"  responded  Dick,  with 
jealous  warmth.  "  Anyway,  the  n^xt  world  can't  be 
harder  on  him  than  this  has  been." 

"  His  own  fault,"  said  Hannah,  resolutely. 

"  That's  as  folks  may  think,"  growled  Van  Hausen  ; 
then,  anxious  to  avoid  another  argument,  and  willing  to 
be  spared  another  interview  with  Margery,  he  continued, 
"  wal,  anyhow  I  s'pose  we've  settled  this  matter,  —  so 
I'll  go  'long." 

22 


•J  ."•  1  HAUNTED    HE  An  TS. 

lie  had  not  ridden  nianv  rods  down  the  road  when  he 
overtook  Angle,  \\ho  had  not  yet  gained  the  shelter  of 
home.  Fleeing,  OS  she  did.  in  MOTOt,  >!ie  liad  come  away 
without  >ha\vl  or  hood,  and  had  thrown  her  dres>o\rr 
her  head  as  a  protection  from  the  keen  winter  wind. 
She  looked  forlorn  enough  making  her  way  through  the 
.snow,  for  there  had  bem  a  .-econd  storm,  nnd  the  cross 
roads  were  almost  impassable;  but  her  appearance  be- 
came  more  wild  and  eerie  still,  as  hearing  his  horse's 
Step  she  gave  a  quick  glance  behind  her  in  the  dusk  and 
saw  who  was  approaching.  "The  cruel  man!  he  will 
ride  me  down  !  "  was  her  first  thought  ;  and,  crouching 
beneath  the  folds  of  her  dress,  she  spranir  aside  into  a  deep 
drift.  The  horse  shied  suddenly,  frightened,  no  doubt,  at 
the  unearthly  apparition  with  its  fluttering  garments.  In 
stinctively  she  dropped  the  di>-nise  which  had  M  .-lariled 
the  horse,  thus  baring  her  head  and  shoulders  to  the 
piercing  wind.  Van  JIausen  seized  his  heavy  whip. 
"He  will  strike  me  dead!"  she  inwardly  exelaiined, 
and  looked  up  imploringly,  her  hands  clasped  together 
as  if  deprecating  his  anger,  her  hair  streaming  in  the 

wind. 

% 

He  M,H  her.  ami  be  did  not  see  her;  he  grasped  the 
whip,  but  it  was  only,  as  it  proved,  to  strike  the  horse-,  and 
riding  off  at  double  .-peed,  lie  left  her  there  as  unnoticed 
as  if  she  had  been  a  stone.  And  to  a  stone  her  heart 
seemed  to  turn  at  this  neglect,  lie  had  u-ed  no  \ioK-iice 
—  he  had  only  annihilated  her  with  his  scorn.  It  was 
no  mistake,  no  mere  suspicion  on  her  part,  for,  as  then, 


THE   LOXG     WATCH    OVER.  255 

so  again  and  again  in  the  future  —  lie  never  seemed  to 
see  her  —  lef  him  encounter  her  where  or  when,  and 
they  often  met,  he  never  appeared  to  be  in  the  least 
degree  conscious  of  her  presence. 

No  consummate  actor  ever  played  a  part  so  well. 
No  malice  nor  disdain,  experienced  elsewhere,  so  stung 
her  to  the  quick  as  the  unpremeditated  revenge  that 
had  grown  naturally  out  of  this  strong  man's  deep 
disgust.  Long  years  of  obloquy  could  not  teach  her 
more  fully  than  she  felt  at  this  moment  how  utterly  she 
had  died  to  human  favor,  and  thus  to  the  world. 

No  wonder  that  she  hurried  home  to  bury  herself  in 
that  consecrated  spot,  —  all  that  is  left  to  her  on  earth. 
Well  for  her  too  that  the  earth  is  the  Lord's  —  the  whole 
of  it.  In  his  care  let  her  spirit  await  a  resurrection,  and 
may  he  have  mercy  on  her  soul ! 


25&  HAUNTI  i>  m  ARTS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A    WINTER    OF    TIIK    HIM:  I. 

GOD'S  love,  Christ's  peace,  the  presence  of  the  Com 
fort,  .,-,  —  such  are  the  solaces  of  afflicted  saints.  The  un- 
sanciitie.l  heart  cannot  repose  in  these,  and  submissively 
accept  its  pain.  Still  it  is  not  without  its  helpers.  The 
Min  which  shines  on  the  evil  and  the  good,  and  tin-  rain 
which  falls,  on  the  just  ami  the  unjii-t.  ai-e  types  of  many 
blessings  common  to  all  the  children  of  Earth.  Time 
with  healing  on  it<  win  ITS,  and  work  crowding  hard  upon 
work,  soothe  the  heaviest  griefs  or  drive  them  away  by 
force,  and  thus  God  in  his  providence  shows  mercy  even 
to  the  unthankful  and  the  evil.  ''  What  can  time  do  for 
me?"  cries  the  sufferer  in  his  first  agony.  k'  Will  not 
tin-  eau-e  of  my  sorrow  continue  forever  the  same?" 
Vain  questions,  which  time  alone  can  answer,  hut  which 
it  does  answer  day  hy  day, as  the  heart  becomes  used 
to  its  burden,  then  !'.•«•!-  it  lightened,  perhaps  at  la-t 
altogether  .-hake-  off  the  load. 

Hut  even   time   is  but   half  a  power  hen-It  of   it<  coad 
jutor,  work.     ••  I  will  work  no  more  !"  is  the  rebellious  re- 


A     WINTER    OF    THE    HEART.  257 

solve  ;  "  I  will  merely  fold  my  hands  and  weep."  But  neces 
sity  presses  at  first  as  a  cruel  taskmaster,  then  wears  the 
aspect  of  a  friend,  and  at  last  proves  itself  a  deliverer. 
And  so  even  earthly  agencies  beneficently  triumph  over 
pain,  and  the  head  bowed  low  by  the  storm  is  raised 
again  to  meet  the  sunshine. 

Let  us  see  what  these  provisions  of  mercy  have  done 
for  Angie. 

Winter  changed  to  spring.  The  months  went  heavily, 
—  still  they  went.  They  brought  occupation  with  them 
too  —  plenty  of  it ;  for  sickness  was  added  to  poverty,  and 
labor  to  anxiety,  in  the  farm-house  of  Mr.  Cousin.  Old 
Happy  Boose  fell  ill  and  died  ;  and  in  nursing  the  faithful 
servant  and  performing  the  household  drudgery  besides, 
Angie  had  little  rest  by  night  or  day.  She  went  through 
her  tasks,  indeed,  like  a  machine — but  like  a  machine, 
she  never  faltered  nor  complained.  That  Angie  was  able 
thus  automatically  to  pursue  the  round  of  every-day  duty, 
her  usefulness  unimpaired  by  the  terrible  shocks  she  had 
sustained,  only  confirmed  what  was  evidenced  in  the  first 
stages  of  the  conflict,  that  the  necessity  for  action  is  the 
parent  of  self-control,  and  thus  the  preserver  alike  of  reason 
and  of  health.  But  for  the  absolute  demands  that  were 
made  upon  her  that  winter  in  her  home,  Angie's  excitable 
temperament  might  have  become  so  wrought  upon  that 
her  career  would  have  ended  in  wasting  disease  or 
madness.  As  it  was,  God  gave  her  earthly  work  to  do, 
and  her  physical  powers  of  endurance  were  brought  out, 
and  her  senses  maintained  in  their  rightful  equilibrium. 
22* 


//  i  /   I  |*i  /'   ///.'  i  /:  rs. 

Tim-  tin-  hardcnini:  prorrss  commenced  (hiring  the 
»f  Chri-tma-  and  by  -prim:  ihft  WAI  inmvd  in  hcrl.it. 
Inuivil  bat  not  reconciled.  There  i-  one  tiling  which  time 
and  work  have  no  jK)wer  to  put  to  llLdit.  For  I  dare  not 
.-ay  that  ivmor.-r  can  thus  be  bani.-hed  or  .-et  a.-ide.  It  is 
subject  to  a  contrary  law  from  that  which  rules  in  all 
other  forms  of  an LM i i>h.  Karth  an«l  its  airencie-  have  no 
mission  here.  Only  Heaven's  touch  can  heal  this  inner 
smart,  ami  Anirie'-  remorse  burned  on. 

She  had  come  too  near  to  sin  to  escape  its  retribution. 
Great  crimes  had  overshadowed  her  with  their  horror, 
and  a  vague  sense  of  participation  in  them  had  taken 
possession  of  her,  and  would  not  be  <lri\i -n  away.  Con 
science  was  eviT  pointing  down  the  «:ulf  in  which  a  soul 
had  perished,  and  accusing  her  oi'  ha\  'HILT  hurried  it  on  to 
its  doom.  True,  tin-  crime  was  hi.-,  but  it  \\a.-  .-If  who 
had  shai-jH-neil  the  in-trumciit  for  the  deed  ;  >hr  win)  had 
lit  the  iires  of  jealousy  and  de-peration  in  which  he  had 
hardened  him.-elt'  for  aets  of  \iolence  and  blood.  Trm-. 
she  had  only  trilled  with  a  lo\in.Lr  heart,  a-  thou.-ands 
trifle  daily,  and  never  wake  to  any  consciou>ne>s  of  wrong, 
far  less  of  actual  crime.  l>ut  only  in  the  light  of 
fatal  ronsecpirinvs  do  we  see  the  power  of  our  own 
mi-deed-.  Airjie'-  eyei  \vere  opeiaul,  and  .-he  saw 
\\hat  .-he  had  done, —  -aw  nmre  than  -he  had  done, —  lor 
imagination  lent  iiself  to  memoi-y  and  aggra\  ated  e\ery 
oH'ence.  N'olumes  could  lu-ver  di'lail  the  windings  of  her 
mind  as  it  roamed  through  all  the  passages  of  the  past, 
the  devotion,  tin-  tenilern«-»,  the  |.atieii<-e  of 


A     WINTER    UF    THE    HEART.  259 

years  on  George's  part ;  the  tyranny,  the  petulance,  the 
caprice  on  hers  ;  and  speculating  as  to  their  possible  bear 
ing  on  the  young  man's  character  and  destiny,  her  reflec 
tions  always  ending  in  a  cold  shudder  as  she  recalled  the 
ill-timed  scorn,  the  bitter  reproaches,  the  mocking  laugh 
into  Avhich  she  had  been  betrayed  on  the  night  of  the 
ball,  and  which  had,  as  she  felt  assured,  put  the  finishing 
stroke  to  the  young  man's  fate. 

But  though  time  and  toil  were  no  antidote  to  this 
poisoned  sting,  which  always  lay  in  wait  for  her  peace 
of  mind,  they  in  some  degree  controlled  its  action  and 
modified  its  influence  upon  her  outward  life.  Goethe 
relates  a  fanciful  story  of  an  adventurous  barber,  who, 
for  the  sake  of  an  alliance  with  a  princess  of  the  pygmy 
race,  consented  to  a  transformation  from  his  own  manly 
proportions  to  those  of  the  minutest  dwarfs.  The  process 
of  contraction,  which  was  simultaneous  with  the  assump 
tion  of  a  magic  ring,  consisted  of  one  terrible  wrench 
which  threatened  to  tear  him  limb  from  limb,  after  which 
he  found  himself  dwarfed  indeed,  and  subject  to  the 
unimagined,  and,  as  they  proved,  unendurable  condi 
tions  of  his  new  lot,  but  free  from  the  first  agony  of 
his  metamorphose. 

The  shock  with  which  Angie  had  been  thrust  from  the 
heights  of  vanity  and  self-satisfaction  to  the  depths  of 
conscious  degradation  and  remorse,  was  an  experience 
of  the  moral  nature  not  unlike  that  which  the  un 
fortunate  barber  suffered  in  the  flesh.  As  in  his  case, 
too,  though  her  after  condition  was  one  of  helplessness 


260  a  AUK  TED    HEARTS. 

and  torment,  tin-  wrench  -he  had  endured  in  tin-  Iran-- 
formation  proved  lnit  temporary.  A-  day  after  day 
d  on.  her  first  bewilderment  :in<l  horror  gave 
place  to  a  dull  and  settled  mi-cry.  She  became  accn-- 
tomed  to  tin-  thought  of  Geordie  as  lost,  —  eternally 
jlost ;  of  her-elf.  as  in  the  same  hopele--  Mate  :  of  the 
pa-t.  as  a  burden  from  which  there  was  no  escape,  and 
of  the  future,  as  promising  nothing  but  a  continuation 
of  pain.  She  whose  moral  mirror  had  heretofore  re 
flected  a  gay  figure,  flaunting  in  holiday  finery,  PMOg- 
nized  herself  through  the  dirt  and  rags  in  which  self- 
contempt  had  clothed  her ;  she,  who  had  danced  through 
life  with  Hope  for  her  partner,  now  sat  down  with 
Despair  for  her  sole  companion.  And  she  became  used 
to  the  Cinderella  garb,  —  used  to  the  sad  companionship, 
—  or  if  habit  failed  to  inure  her  to  them,  hard  work 
came  to  its  assistance.  The  cold  perspiration,  the 
momentary  palsy  of  the  heart  which  sometimes  >tole 
over,  or  seized  upon  her  in  her  hours  of  deep  de 
spondency,  were  sure  to  be  speedily  dispelled  by  the 
demand  for  her  services  here,  there,  and  every  where. 
In  constant  attendance  upon  her  lather,  the  household. 
and  Happy  Boose,  she  had  little  leisure  to  take  the 
iran-je  of  her  own  lot,  real  or  imaginary,  and  BTOH 
remor.-e  found  it>  lie-t  -ol.-iee  at  the  wash  tub.  the 
oven,  the  kitchen  hearth,  the  mop  and  broom,  and  the 
sick  bed  of  the  old  oegrdM. 

If   there  waa    any    virtue    in    the    half->ullen    submis 
sion,    the    enforced    drudgery,    the    compelled    self-con- 


A    WINTER    OF    THE   HEART.  261 

tempt,  which  at  present  constituted  the  chief  features 
of  Angie's  life,  it  did  not  manifest  itself  outwardly. 
Whatever  change  there  was  in  her  was  apparently  a 
change  for  the  worse.  She  still  had  a  word  of  en 
couragement  for  old  Hap,  a  constrained  smile  for  her 
father,  a  helping  hand  to  spare  now  and  then  for  the 
two  old  women  at  the  cottage ;  but  the  grace,  the 
beauty,  the  charm  that  hung  around  her  former  life 
had  all  been  swept  away  by  the  blast,  and  no  new 
virtues  had  yet  blossomed  in  their  place.  The  seeds 
might  be  there,  but  there  is  no  sweetness,  no  beauty 
in  seeds,  and  besides  they  lie  a  long  while  under  ground. 
It  was  Avinter  with  her  yet,  and  her  life  was  very  deso 
late  and  bare,  —  poor  thing  ! 

Her  father  scarcely  noticed  the  change,  neither  did 
old  Hap.  The  one  was  ailing,  depressed,  and  nervous 
himself  from  the  effect  of  recent  events,  —  what  else 
could  he  expect  from  her?  —  and  the  other  was  dying, 
groaning  her  old  life  away  in  mortal  pain  ;  and  every 
other  agony  was  but  a  dim  reflection  of  her  own.  It 
was  too  dark  in  the  farm-house  that  winter  for  shadows 
to  be  seen  any  where. 

Nor  were  there  any  observers  from  the  outside  world. 
So  engrossing  were  Angie's  duties,  so  utter  her  seclu 
sion,  that  from  Christmas  time  until  spring  she  never 
went  further  from  home  than  the  Widow  Rawle's  cot- 
tage,  a  daily  visit  to  which,  usually  paid  at  sundown, 
was  less  a  recreation  than  a  religious  rite,  so  painful 
were  her  associations  with  the  place  and  its  inmates. 


262  //.»  /  .v  / •/•  />  // KAKT s. 

And  in  spite  of  tin-  curiosity  felt  concerning  her,  the 
undertaker,  who  went  MMIU-  time  in  April  to  take  the 
KB*  fur  II;ij>j>y's  coil'm.  wa>  tin-  first  amoii'_r  the 
village  go— ip-  who  could  hoa-t  of  havniir  had  a  _;imp-e 
of  Angic  since  Geordie  made  away  with  himself.  Most 
of  the  neighbors  had  kept  aloof;  at  first,  '-from  prin 
ciple."  they  said,  to  show  their  opinion  of  her;  later, 
perhaps,  from  .-haine  :  we  will  hope  SO,  for  shame'.*. 
sake.  Even  the  village  doctor  had  not  ohtained  an 
entrance.  Old  I  lap's  case  was  of  too  hupele-^  a  na 
ture  for  his  skill,  and  besides  I  lap  had  no  faith  in 
him,  Mas  skilled,  as  she  affirmed,  "  in  yarbs,"  and  chose 
to  doctor  herself. 

Spring-time,  which  l>rin;_r-  hack  the  birds,  turns  the 
grass  green,  and  coaxes  the  flower--  out  into  the  sunshine  : 
Spring,  which  pays  for  all  that  winter  costs,  and  >etil«  -  up 
Nature'.- account  with  man  :  —  >j»ring-timi«  brought  release 
to  old  Happy,  and  the  price  of  all  her  pain  was  pi-ace. 

But  the  winter  of  poor  Angie's  life  had  not  yet  made  a 
>pring  for  her.  All  was  mid.  hard,  dark  in  the  soil  of 
her  stricken  heart.  No  >eed  of  hope  had  sprouted  there, 
no  ray  of  Min.-hine,  melting  tin-  winter  MIOW,  had  dill'ii-cd 
it-  moisture  through  the  dry  erust  that  cn.-hrouded  her 
soul  in  glo-.m. 

1 -\eiiin  its  exterior  Mptd  spring  looked  le.-s  j)romi>in^ 
than  u.-ual  this  y.-ar  at  the  Coil-in  farm.  The  old  I'Yench- 
man.  >o  far  from  reeo\ering  his  elasticity  of  spirits  and 
of  limb  in  proportion  as  the  genial  season  advanced, 
seemed  to  droop  and  wither  under  its  influence.  He  was 


A     WINTER     OF    THE    HEART.  263 

no  longer  able  to  potter  about  the  place  and  plan  schemes 
of  improvement  and  profit,  which,  however  chimerical  in 
themselves,  and  however  imperfectly  carried  out,  were  at 
least  more  promising  than  utter  neglect.  What  if  his 
vineyards  had  proved  a  failure,  except  as  they  afforded 
him  grapes  enough  one  favorable  year  to  treat  his  neigh 
bors  to  a  little  very  bad  wine  of  his  own  manufacture? 
What  if  his  fields  of  peppermint  and  spearmint  had  never 
produced  enough  oil  to  pay  the  cost  of  his  mint  still? 
What  if  his  flock  of  sheep,  imported  from  France,  had 
dwindled  down  to  a  few  pet  lambs  of  Angle's  ?  What 
if  every  year  found  him  more  and  more  out  of  pocket, 
and  with  the  farm  more  and  more  embarrassed  and  mort 
gaged?  Practically  speaking,  these  things  were  ruinous, 
but  experimental  farming  is  always  hopeful ;  there  is  a 
healthy  excitement  in  novelty  ;  and  in  riding  the  annual 
hobby,  and  snuffing  future  harvests,  there  was  forgetful- 
ness  for  the  sanguine  Frenchman  of  his  long  arrears  of 
indebtedness,  and  blindness  to  the  poverty  which  would 
otherwise  have  been  staring  him  in  the  face.  This  year, 
for  the  first  time,  he  was  without  a  scheme.  It  was  a 
bad  sign. 

At  last,  just  as  the  summer  days  were  at  the  longest, 
the  farmers,  the  hardest  worked'  at  haying,  and  their 
women  folks  kept  busiest  in  kitchen  and  dairy,  just  at  the 
season  when  nobody  had  leisure  to  be  interrupted  with 
any  body's  else  concerns,  the  dormant  curiosity  of  the 
neighborhood  as  to  "  how  things  were  goin'  on  at  Cous- 
inses,"  was  suddenly  aroused,  and  had,  moreover,  a  chance 


J'.l  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

to  be  gratified.  There  had  been  a  death  up  at  the  farm 
house  in  the  night  !  the  old  gentleman  himself  had  been 
called  away:  ho  was  to  be  buried  to-morrow  ;  and  alter 
thai.  of  com>e.  there  muM  In-  a  general  breaking  up.  foi 
l-very  thing  was  going  t<>  rack  and  ruin  up  there.  So 
ran  the  gossip. 

The  general  breaking  up.  tlm-  looked  forward  to, 
could,  of  course,  be  nothing  else  than  t^e  unearthing  of 
poor  Angie,  the  only  victim  left  to  Miller  from  the  coming 
chaos.  With  her  last  protector  gone,  it  was  but  too 
evident  that  llie  poor  refugee  would  at  length  be  driven 
from  her  hiding-place,  and  compelled  to  face  the  light. 

Day  alter  day  tin-  rarcle.v-  pa—ers-hy  had  seen  Mr. 
Cousin  sitting  in  the  sun  at  his  door-way,  his  limbs  swathed 
in  flannel,  and  his  camlet  coat  wrapped  round  his  shoulders, 
looking  out  vacantly  on  his  untilled  lirlds,  and  shivering  in 
spite  of  the  summer's  In  at.  Some  -aid  old  Cousin  was 
getting  gouty;  they  reckoned  his  hahits  wen-  had  :  others 
that  lie  uas  laxy,  he  had  never  been  good  for  much.  No 
body  suspected  that  a  death-chill  had  got  into  his  bones, 
and  that  his  la.-t  day's  work  on  earth  v.  as  done.  It  was 
known  that  the  farm-boy  had  taken  him-i  It' ofl' weeks  be 
fore,  that  the  one-eyed  hol>e  had  been  >ei/ed  by  Jock  the 
miller  in  payment  for  grain,  and  that  the  pig  had  gone 
to  oft'set  the  butcher's  account;  it  was  even-  whi-p. -n -d 
that  the  farming  tool>  had  either  been  stolen  or  sold  oil' the 
place,  and  that  the  old4"  equipage,"  now  sported  by  Farm 
er  Kyeker,  had  been  bargained  for^ith  Angie  for  a 
song.  But,  no  one  knew  —  no,  they  never  knew  —  for 


A     WINTER     OF    THE    HEART.  265 

even  death  and  the  funeral  did  not  reveal  that,  —  how 
Angie  had  plotted  and  planned  to  keep  starvation  from 
the  door  ;  how,  when  every  thing  else  that  could  be  dis 
posed  of  was  gone,  she  had  made  her  way  to  New  York 
and  back  on  foot,  and  had  obtained  as  the  price  of  the 
three  silver  tea-spoons  and  her  mother's  wedding-ring, 
money  enough  to  purchase  a  few  necessaries  ;  and  how, 
when  some  weeks  later  the  means  were  again  wanting  to 
obtain  medicine  for  the  sick  man,  she  had  cropped  off  her 
own  beautiful  hair  —  every  lock  of  it  —  and  sent  it  se 
cretly  to  the  wig-maker  in  Broadway,  who  made  and 
dressed  Mr.  Cousin's  wigs,  and  who  had  once  offered  her 
a  handsome  sum  for  her  jetty  curls,  little  suspecting  that 
the  time  would  ever  come  when  she  would  bring  her 
mind  to  parting  with  them.  No,  and  they  never  knew 
the  bitter  relief  it  brought  to  the  poor  girl's  pain  as  she 
looked  on  her  dead  father's  face,  to  reflect  how  next  to 
impossible  it  would  have  been  for  her  to  keep  him  alive 
with  nourishment,  even  if  she  could  have  baffled  disease, 
and  how  dreadful  a  thing  it  would  have  been  to  him  to 
have  outlived  the  gentleman  and  died  a  pauper. 

Had  they  known  all  this  at  Stein's  Plains,  there  were 
kind-hearted  people  among  them  who  would  have  been 
stirred  to  sympathy  and  action  in  behalf  of  Angie  and 
her  father.  As  it  was,  many,  remembering  what  a  genial, 
social  nature  the  old  man  had,  and  what  a  kind  word  for 
every  body,  felt  a  pang  of  mortification  and  regret  that  he 
should  have  passeS  away  without  their  neighborly  inter 
vention  or  knowledge.  Most  of  them  were  satisfied, 
23 


BAUXTKH    UK  ARTS. 

however,  with  the  reflection  "he  must  have  gone  off 
sudden  at  last,  or  we  should  ha'  heard  on't  sartin  ;  and 
anyhow,  people  that  didn't  come  to  meetin',  and  li\rd 
as  close  as  mice  in  a  cheese,  couldn't  expect  the  neigh 
borhood  to  keep  account  of  their  doins'."  Finally,  all 
reassured  their  consciences  with  the  iv.-ohv  to  muk»- 
amends  for  past  neglect,  "  by  puttiii*  aside  every  thing 
else  that  was  pressin'  an'  drivin*  at  this  season  o'  year, 
an'  makin'  a  pint  of  attendin*  the  funeral." 


• 


THE    DROP    OF    DEW.  267 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    DROP    OF    DEW. 

THEY  came,  as  habitual  attendants  on  funerals  usually 
do  come,  in  a  sort  of  passive,  quiescent  state,  with  minds 
carefully  laid  open  for  the  reception  of  pleasing  melan 
choly,  and  eyes,  undrained  by  previous  weeping,  and 
quite  prepared  to  well  over  at  the  least  provocation. 
Feeling  that  a  certain  tribute  of  sighs  and  tears  is  due  to 
the  occasion,  such  mourners  court  emotions  of  sensibility  ; 
and  when  at  sight  of  the  familiar  dead  the  climax  is 
reached,  and  the  heart  momentarily  stirred,  they  compas 
sionate  themselves  instead  of  those  with  whom  they  came 
to  weep,  and  take  credit  for  "  feeling  it,"  as  they  believe, 
"  more  than  the  family." 

Angie  had  no  tears  to  weep.  She  had  shed  them  all. 
They  had  flowed  like  a  beneficent  shower,  and  left  her 
strengthened  and  refreshed.  Since  she  first  came  under 
the  cloud  she  had  never  before  felt  its  blessed  rain,  and  it 
was  only  beside  her  dead  father's  body  that  she  knew  the 
relief  it  brought.  Sacred  drops  they  were,  the  oil  that 
binds  up  broken  hearts.  Such  tears  refuse  to  mingle 


268  BA  V  X  T  K  D    II E  ARTS. 

v.  itli  the  watery  flood  that  flows  from  common  eyes. 
They  do  tin -ir  healing  work  in  secret,  and  are  often 
>j.ciit  before  the  time  appointed  for  a  public  libation  to 
the  dead. 

So  Angie  remained  tearlc.-s  while  others  wept.  They 
crowded  around  the  coffin  in  groups.  She  kept  herself 
aloof  and  alone.  They  stole  glances  at  her  at  every  op 
portunity  ;  she  followed  all  their  movements  with  a  dis 
trustful,  suspicious  stare,  but  spoke  to  nobody  and  nobody 
spoke  to  her.  Her  face  was  haggard,  but  flushed  with 
excitement  or  the  heat.  She  wore  no  mourning  ;  —  her 
cropped  hair,  clinging  in  little  round  curls  to  her  temples, 
gave  a  conspicuous  novelty  to  her  appearance ;  even  her 
attitude  was  out  of  rule,  for,  instead  of  seating  herself,  she 
stood  near  the  head  of  the  coffin,  as  if  jealous  of  her  sole 
ownership  in  its  contents,  and  now  and  then  bending 
forward,  brushed  a  fly  from  the  dead  face. 

"  How  hardened  she  looks  !"  whispered  one.  "ll"\v 
brazen-faced!"  commented  another.  "She  don't  seem 
to  feel  it  a  mite!"  was  the  indignant  conclusion  of  a 
third,  who  was  complacently  wiping  a  tear  from  her  own 
eye.  "I  only  hope  she  treated  him  well."  muttered  a 
fourth.  "I  allers  mistrusted  old  Hap  died  for  want 

<»'    rare." 

"Lor!  I'm  sure  it  must  ha*  been  a  pleasure  to  nu.-s 
him."  whimpered  Miss  Sabina  Rycker,  "he  was  so  cour 
tesy-like  to  every  body.  He  looks  as  handsome  as  a 
stature  in  his  coffin;  now  don't  he?  Death's  such  a 
beautifier  at  first." 


THE    DROP     OF    DEW.  269 

I 

"  Only  to  think  we  shall  never  see  his  face  again,  nor 
have  a  nice  bow  from  him,  nor  nothing,  Miss  Rycker," 
responded  the  sympathizing  friend  to  whom  this  remark 
was  addressed.  "  But  somehow  I  can't  seem  to  indulge 
my  feelin's  here  with  that  gal's  sarchin'  eyes  a-followin' 
of  us  so  suspicious-like  ;  we've  a  right  to  miss  him,  I 
s'pose,  if  she  don't.  Let's  go  back  into  the  kitchen 
until  the  prayer  begins,  and  talk  him  over  comfortably." 

"  Seventy-one  year  !  "  soliloquized  a  gray -haired 
farmer,  as  the  result  pf  some  minutes  study  of  the  coffin- 
plate.  "  Not  so  very  old  nuther ;  didn't  look  a  day 
over  sixty.  Cut  off  in  his  prime,  you  may  almost  say. 
Seventy-one — tain't  in  the  course  o'  natur',  sartin.  My 
father  lived  to  eighty-six ; "  and  the  speaker  looked  up 
appealingly  at  a  less  venerable,  but  rather  sickly-faced 
man,  next  him." 

"  Threescore  and  ten 's  the  Bible  number,"  was  the  orac 
ular  response.  "  Seventy-one  !  that  ain't  far  from  your 
figure,  neighbor  ;  "  surveying  him  anxiously  ;  —  "  you've 
half  a  dozen  year  or  so  the  start  o'  me,  I  reckon." 

"  Mebbe  so,  countin'  by  years,"  was  the  self-satisfied 
answer,  "  but  it's  by  reason  o'  strength  men  reach  four 
score,  and  I'm  of  a  long-lived  stock.  Ha !  what's 
that?"  in  a  low,  compassionate  tone  (the  younger  man 
had  coughed  slightly  ;  the  air  of  the  room  was  oppres 
sive,  even  for  healthy  lungs).  "You've  got  a  cough, 
haven't  you?  Bad  sign  in  summer  time.  You  ought 
to  look  out  for  that ; "  and  the  farmer  glanced  expres 
sively  from  the  living  form  to  that  of  the  dead  man. 
23* 


270  nil     \    1  1   1>     HKARTS. 

"No;  it's  nothin'  (hack)  to  speak  of;"  (another 
hack.)  "a  dry  .-pot  in  my  throat.  that'-  all."  (A  long 
series  of  hack-.)  'Til  go  out  to  the  well  and  get  a 
drink  o'  water,  so 'snot  to  interrupt  the  prayer."  Tin- 
old  farmer  looked  after  him,  shook  his  head,  and 
muttered.  —  M  He's  one  o*  the  weakly  sort,  that  don't  half 
live  out  their  years ;  he's  goin'  fast.  Jt  '11  be  his  turn 
next." 

.Meanwhile  a  group  of  women  had  drawn  off  into  the 
kitchen,  and  while  watching  for  the  minister's  arrival, 
were  discurv-inir  tin1  merits  of  the  dead,  and  the  late  in 
the  next  world  to  which  the  dominie  would  probably 
consign  him. 

Popular  as  Mr.  Cousin  had  been  in  the  neighborhood 
(and  up  to  a  recent  period  he.  as  well  as  his  daughter, 
had  been  a  ^eiicral  favorite,)  it  had  always  been  an 
understood  thini:  among  the  strict  ivli^ionists,  that  their 
intercourse  with  him  was  under  protest,  and  strictly^ 
limited  to  this  world.  Whether  it  was  some  remnant 
of  the  popish  faith,  cherished  in  common  with  the 
marquis  whom  he  had  scr\ed;  whether  it  was  some 
loose  doctrine  of  the  French  revolution;  whether  it  was 
ignorance  or  childi-hne  — .  or  "  want,"  as  they  said,  "  of 
a  Mriet  brinirnf  up."  there  certainly  was  a  streak  in  the 
old  I'Yenchman's  religious  nature  which  the  Stein'.- 
Plains  people  could  neither  comprehend  nor  pardon. 
Not  all  his  simplicity,  nor  hospitality,  nor  cheeri'ulne^- 
in  trouble,  nor  patience  under  injurie-  ;  not  even  his 
regular  attendance  at  church.  M>  long  as  health  per- 


THE    DROP     OF    DEW,  271 

| 

mitted,  nor  his  devotional  habits  when  there  ;  not  even 
his  love  for  the  young,  his  kindness  to  the  poor,  his 
truly  Christian  courtesy  to  all,  could  cancel  a  single  count 
of  the  church's  indictment  against  him,  or  soften  the 
pious  verdict.  He  was  known  to  have  criticized  the 
parson's  doctrinal  sermons,  and  to  have  condemned  not 
a  few  of  his  most  conclusive  arguments.  He  had 
acknowledged  that  there  was  something  in  his  conscience 
(some  black  spot  doubtless)  which  forbade  his  sub 
scribing  to  the  church  articles  and  becoming  a  member 
of  that  religious  body ;  he  had,  many  years  ago,  enter 
tained  for  a  week  at  his  farm-house  two  Frenchmen 
with  shaved  heads,  suspected  of  being  priests  ;  and  one 
bitterly  cold  Sunday  he  had  suifered  his  dog  to  follow 
him  into  church,  besides  on  various  other  occasions 
fostering  misbehavior  among  the  children  of  the  parish 
in  service  time.  It  availed  little  against  the  speculative 
intellect  and  unsound  practices  of  the  old  Frenchman, 
that  he  served  and  trusted  God  even  more  faithfully  than 
he  served  and  trusted  man  ;  that  he  had  a  mantle  of 
charity  large  enough  to  cover  the  crimes  even  of  children 
and  dogs  ;  that  his  heart  was  too  large  to  exclude  any 
one  from  the  mercies  of  earth  or  heaven  ;  in  a  word,  that 
he  was  too  loving  himself  not  to  be  universally  loved. 
He  was  a  man,  they  all  acknowledged,  whom  they  had 
no  fault  to  find  with  in  this  world,  but  he  would  never 
do  for  them  to  keep  company  with  in  the  next. 

Since   the   unfortunate   affair   of  George    Rawle,   the 
Frenchman's  character  had  been  more  than  ever  tabooed. 


872  a . i  •'  A  /  ED  HI-ARTS. 

It    wa*   tlu'    trait>   inherited    from   thi>    heathen    quarter 

aid    the    critics)   which    had   caused  Angie   to   be 

guilty  (if  Mich  wicked  lc\iiy.     I  Vrliap-  it   wa- ;  for  though 

they  had  no  commission  to  judge,  truth  must  acknowl- 

that  there  was  a  ha-i-  of  (  hri.-tian  serio!, 
wanting  in  the  mercurial  foreigner,  and  a  consequent 
lack  of  any  right  sense  of  his  responsibility  in  the 
religious  culture  of  his  child.  They  had  not  thought 
all  the  sweet  graces  of  her  nature,  when  they  were 
uppermost,  such  a  bad  inheritance  ;  perhaps  the  time 
would  some  day  come  when  virtues,  born  of  the  French 
man's  blood,  would  once  more  make  his  memory  fra 
grant.  But  at  present,  though  the  eyes  of  the  neigbor- 
hood  might  weep,  its  tongues  felt  them-ehes  licensed  to 
make  him  the  subject  of  their  stririmvs  :  and  although 
he  had  not  been  without  friends  and  admirers,  he  found 
but  feeble  apologists. 

"Wai,"  remarked  one  of  the  strictest  among  the 
knot  of  female  censors.  ••  it  was  allers  cheerful  to  meet 
Mr.  Cousins  on  a  week-day,  and  have  a  little  chat  with 
him,  but  when  a  man  comes  to  his  latter  end  you  can't 
help  wishiu'  he'd  been  a  little  more  stiddy  in  his  prin 
ciples.  To  see  him  lyin'  there  so  stiff  and  still,  and 
then  to  think  how  he  wa-  fri.-kin'  round  less  than  a 
ago,  the  niirlit  o'  the  ball  at  Stein's!  I  don't  goto  sich 
scenes  o'  scandal  my-df,  but  my  nephew,  Joel  lieck,  and 
tSter  Li/e  hail  a  M-ht  to  tell  about  the  old  man's 
cuttm"  joke-,  with  the  folks,  smirkin'  round  am-mir  tin- 
old  maid-,  and  pntlin'  all  the  pil-  t«»  the  hhi.-h  with  his 


THE    DROP     OF    DEW.  273 

Now  Dame  Rycker  had  been  present  at  the  scene  of 
scandal  alluded  to.  She  must  needs  justify  herself  and 
her  husband  to  Joel  Beck's  aunt,  so  she  put  in  a  word 
here. 

"  Why,  Miss  Beck,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  see  no  harm 
in  countenancin'  a  leetle  dance  for  the  young  folks,  jist 
for  once  in  a  way  ;  it's  better  to  be  there,  yer  know,  to  see 
that  they  don't  misbehave  ;  but,  as  you  say,"  in  a  quali 
fying  tone,  "  there's  sich  a  thing  as  elderly  folks  con- 
ductin'  themselves  sedate-like,  and  sich  a  thing  as  a  light- 
someness  that's  disgracin'  to  gray  hairs.  For  my  part 
I  agree  with  you,  that  it's  more  becomin'-like  for  them 
that's  well  into  years  to  set  an'  look  on,  than  allers  to 
hanker,  as  some  do,  arter  bein'  on  the  floor  with  the  young 
folks  ; "  and  while  delivering  this  opinion  Dame  Rycker 
almost  forgot  the  original  subject  of  censure  as  she  cast  a 
malicious  look  at  her  sister-in-law,  Miss  Sabrina  Rycker. 
Sabrina  understood  the  hint.  She  had  not  even  yet  given 
up  hankering  for  places  and  partners.  She  still  kept  the 
floor,  when  she  could,  on  all  occasions,  —  resisting  her 
sister-in-law  and  nieces  in  their  attempts  to  lay  her  on 
the  shelf.  She  recognized  herself,  too,  as  one  of  the 
old  maids,  —  the  objects  of  Mr.  Cousin's  smirking.  So 
she  now,  as  the  saying  is,  "  put  in  her  oar." 

"  I  don't  know  as  there  's  much  to  choose,"  she  said, 
emphatically,  "  between  speculators  and  part'cipators  ; 
one 's  as  bad  as  t'  other,  fur 's  I  see  ;  an'  whatever  else 
yer  may  bring  agin'  Mr.  Cousin,  yer  can't  say  as  ever  he 
had  a  censhurious  tongue." 


274  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

"  II<>  was  a  iair-].oken  man."  .-aid  Miss  Beck,  insinu- 
' y  ;  "  I  only  hope  he  was  sincere." 

"Briny  can  -waller  flattery  as  well  as  anybody  ever  I 
sec,"  remarked  Dainc  Ryckcr  ;  "  it's  only  the  truth  that 
stick-  in  her  throat." 

"  Ask  the  school  chil'en  I'ur  a  cliaracter  on  him,"  sug 
gested  Briny,  looking  at  Miss  Beck,  and  disdaining  to 
take  any  notice  of  her  sister-in-law's  last  remark  ;  -  cliil- 
'en's  minds  are  open  to  the  truth  ;  you  may  trust  to  their 
vcnlick.  jrood  or  bad." 

"  The  chil'ern?  Good  Lud  !  "  here  struck  in  tho  mother 
of  six  boys ;  "  ask  the  chil'ern !  when  it's  been  part  o* 
his  business  this  dozen  year  to  be  the  corruptin'  o'  boys. 
Why,  didn't  he  give  my  Sam  a  pep'mint  lozenger  at  ween 
meetin's  once  last  summer,  that  came  near  upsettin'  tho 
whole  congregation?  I  see  the  child  a-shyiif  it  inter  his 
mouth  in  the  middle  o'  prayer  time  when  he  thought  I 
wan't  watchin'  him  ;  I  snatched  at  it,  an'  Sam  (Sam  's 
the  hardest  boy  I've  got  to  manage)  he  flung  it  over  inter 
Widder  Klover's  pew,  and  her  gal  an'  boy  went  to  scrab- 
blin'  fur  it,  an'  they  made  sich  a  noise  that  up  got  Deacon 
Clip  an'  led  little  Mark  out  inter  the  porch,  an'  boxed  his 
ears,  an'  sent  him  home  a  screamin'  to  the  top  of  his  limns. 
If  that  ain't  introducin'  sin  inter  the  meetin'-house,  I 
don't  know  what  is.  Ask  the  chil'ern,  to  be  sure!  why, 
they'd  >tand  up  fur  Mr.  Cousin  if  he'd  been  the  evil  one 
hisself ;  their  nat'ral  carnal  hearts  don't  know  no  hotter." 

••  \Val,  he  was  a  .-]>irito(.al-minded  man,  you  can't  deny 
that,"  here  interposed  Briny,  who,  feeling  the  last  charge 


THE    DROP    OF  DEW.  275 

unanswerable,  was  bent  on  introducing  a  new  clause  in 
Mr.  Cousin's  favor  ;  u  an'  I've  heerd  my  brother  Joe  say 
that  if  there  was  any  thing  sensual  in  this  town,  it  was 
fur  a  man  to  be  spiritooally-minded." 

"  Spiritooally-minded  !  "  cried  Miss  Beck,  with  uplifted 
hands  and  eyes;  "  wal,  what  next?  Briny  Rycker,  you 
must  be  beside  yerself !  I  never  once  heerd  him  speak  a 
word  at  prayer-meeting  an'  I've  attended  reg'lar  sence 
long  afore  he  come  to  live  in  this  'ere  town." 

"  Prayer-meetin'  ?  "  said  Briny,  looking  puzzled,  "it's 
toivn-meetm'  I'm  thinkin'  on,  an'  I'm  sure  our  Joe  said 
Mr.  Cousin  was  the  for'ardest  man  with  his  team  at 
breakin'  roads,  an'  the  most  willin'  to  lend  a  hand  when 
they  raised  the  district  school-house,  an'  allers  sent  a  tur 
key  to  the  poor-house  at  Christmas,  an'  that  it  was  the 
most  sensual  thing  in  a  parish  like  ourn  fur  a  man  to  be 
spiritooally-minded." 

"  Law,  Briny,  it's  public  sperit  that  Rycker  thinks  so 
'sential ;  you  do  discumboberate  words  so  there 's  no 
gettin'  at  yer  idee." 

"  Wal,  public-sperited,  then,"  said  Briny,  a  little  sub 
dued  ;  u  that's  a  good  thing,  I'm  sure." 

"  It's  not  a  grace,"  remarked  Miss  Beck,  decisively. 

"  He  allers  gave  liberally  at  the  donation  meetin's," 
suggested  Briny's  sympathizing  friend,  the  tearful  female, 
who  felt  the  death  so  much  more  than  Angle,  and  who, 
though  of  a  timid,  retiring  nature,  ventured  to  come  in 
feebly  to  Briny's  support. 

"  To  be  sure  he  did,"  pursued  the  reanimated  Briny  ; 


270  HA  VKTED    HEARTS. 

44  I  can  remember  many  an  annular  nun-tin'  when  he  sent 
in  a  handsomer  remembrance  to  our  good  pa-imv  than 
many  that  eon>ideivd  thi-m>clves  the  chosen  of  the  flo.-k. 
an'  lie  allers  spoke  respectful  of  the  pulpit,  if  he  did  dilli-r 
from  it  on  Mune  di>jmtatious  p'ints." 

44 1  trust,"  said  Miss  Beck,  with  virtuous  severiiy, 
"  that  our  pastor  is  above  be  in*  Minded  by  the  good  words 

an'  works  of  unbeliever:-." 

• 

"  Works  without  faith  is  dead,"  interposed  the  mother 
of  six  boys,  miMjiiotinLr  Scripture  in  her  zeal. 

4'And  death  i>  tin-  \\a-e.s  of  sin,"  promptly  added 
Dame  Ivvck.-r.  jioinlin^  towards  tin-  iniu-r  r<»om  where  the 
coffin  lay,  a>  if  .-..me  i-.\trat>rdinary  pn«i»t'  of  lu-r  words 
was  there  demonstrated. 

44  An' after  death  comes  tin-  judgment,"  was  the  con 
clusive  asseveration  on  the  part  of  ,Mi—  IJerk,  who,  as 
she  spoke,  drew  hack  to  make  room  for  Dominie  Van 
Zandt ;  and  by  her  low  reverence  as  he  passed,  seemed  to 
imply  that  she  looked  to  him  as  the.  final  authority  who 
might  presently  be  expected  to  pass  sentence  on  him  whom 
they  had  condemned  already. 

Silence  now  succeeded  the  hum  of  voices  which  had 
preceded  the  pastor's  entrance.  All  pressed  forward  to 
secure  good  places.  Even  Briny  Rycker  and  her  friend, 
put  down  as  they  had  been  in  argument,  were  among  the 
f<>n  most  in  this  new  contention  for  precedence.  The  men, 
who  had  hitherto  li.-ni  loitrriiiLT  round  the  yard  and  out 
buildings,  spying  out  the  nakedness  of  the  land,  and  blam 
ing  the  late  owner's  mismanagement  and  want  of  thrift, 


THE   DROP    OF  DEW.  277 

now  thronged  in  the  direction  of  the  house.  The  crowd 
soon  settled  itself,  those  who  could  not  find  room  within 
swarming  around  the  open  doors  and  windows,  and  the 
burial  service  began. 

It  consisted  of  exordium,  exhortation,  and  thanksgiv 
ing,  all  under  the  form  of  a  devotional  exercise,  and  was 
throughout  stiff,  formal,  and  unimpressive.  It  was  no 
stinted  performance,  occupying  as  it  did  nearly  the  space 
of  an  hour ;  but  as  the  earlier  portion  was  a  statement 
of  facts,  and  intended  for  the  audience  generally,  and  the 
second  of  the  nature  of  a  warning,  and  aimed  particularly 
at  Angie,  only  the  last  and  smaller  portion  could  properly 
be  deemed  a  prayer. 

There  was  nothing  in  Dominie  Van  Zandt's  statement 
of  the  purpose  for  which  they  had  come  together  half  so 
touching  as  the  sight  of  the  father  lyin£  there  in  his  last 
sleep,  and  his  child  —  with  that  face  of  hers  vacant, 
except  for  its  strange,  appealing  stare  —  standing  alone 
on  the  border  land  which  lies  somewhere  between  the 
living  and  the  dead. 

And  there  was  nothing  in  his  exhortation  to  the  poor 
girl,  startling  and  even  awful  as  it  was,  which  promised 
edification.  The  warning  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come, 
to  make  her  peace  with  God,  to  hide  herself  beneath  the 
Rock  of  Ages,  only  had  the  effect  of  startling  her  imagi 
nation  and  causing  her  to  look  hastily  from  right  to  left, 
like  a  hunted  hare,  which  feels  its  peril,  but  knows  not 
which  way  to  turn  for  safety  ;  after  which,  her  eyes,  with 
an  expression  of  bewilderment,  fastened  themselves  on 
24 


HA  f  \TL  it    II  r  i 


the  dominie's  larr.  in  a  way  which  certainly  would  have 
disconcerted  him  if  his  own  hail  not  been  rcli«_riou<lv 
doeed  a_ain>t  her. 

Filially,  hi-  prayer  of  thanksgiving,  earnest,  vehement. 
rhetorical  though  it  miirht  he,  was  one  in  which  she,  poor 
tiling,  could  hear  no  part.  It  almost  >eemed  to  imply 
that  there  was  really  nothing  for  which  she  need  be 
thankful.  The  faithful,  for  wboM  lives  he  praised  God, 
were  so  described  as  to  include  none  hut  the  sound  believ 
ers  of  those  very  doctrines  airainst  whose  narrowness  and 
bigotry  Mr.  Cousin  had  always  contended  ;  the  hopes  of 
salvation  on  which  the,  dominie  expatiated  were  so  arbi 
trarily  limited  as  to  exclude  all  thoflti  whom  poor  Angie 
had  ever  loved  from  any  share  in  the  inheritance;  even 
the  heaven,  on  whose  cominir  glories  he  dwell  at  length, 
produced  the  impression  on  one's  mind  of  a  strong-walled 
fortress,  built  purpo.-ely  to  keep  out  the  many,  rather  than 
of  the  Father's  hou.-c,  wherein  even  a  lew  were  blessed. 

The  chief  mourner  on  this  occasion  could  scarcely  be 
expected  to  thank  God  for  condemnation,  hopelessness, 
and  an  outcast's  lot,  either  in  this  world  or  the  next. 
The  audience  generally  were  .-ati-lied  thon-h.  c-pi-cially 
the  more  self-righteous  amoni:  them.  who.  \\hile  con 
gratulating  themselves  on  their  own  security,  rejoiced 
that  the  dominie  had  done  his  duty,  and  held  out  no  delu 
sive  hopes  to  any  one  :  and  as  for  An^ric,  it  did  not  matter 
much.  The  dircctnc.-s  of  the  minister'-  charge,  the  style 
preanOBI  he  employed,  had  indeed  startled  her.  a- 
the  rusilijj-j-  of  l.ranche-  -:artles  the  |  .....  r  li.-a-t  that  is 


THE   DROP    OF  DEW,  279 

conscious  of  the  hunter's  pursuit,  but  beyond  that  his 
words  left  no  impression.  She  was  not  in  a  condition 
to  weigh  their  meaning.  Every  one  who  has  come  out 
of  grief  and  solitude,  knows  the  effect  which  a  crowded  as 
semblage  and  a  formal  ceremony  produce  upon  the  nerves. 
Angie  had  wept  herself  calm  before  the  funeral  hour 
arrived  ;  but  she  was  in  no  way  prepared  for  this  sudden 
inroad  upon  half  a  year's  seclusion.  From  her  vague 
sense  of  wonder  at  finding  herself  the  object  of  so  many 
eyes,  she  had  gradually  been  passing  through  all  the 
stages  of  bewilderment,  awe,  and  terror,  until  her  stock 
of  self-control  was  well-nigh  exhausted. 

When  the  prayer  ceased,  when  the  bearers  took  away 
the  corpse,  from  the  mere  presence  of  which  she  had 
hitherto  found  support,  and  she  was  left  with  only  a 
vacant  space  in  front  of  her,  her  forced  rigidity  gave 
way.  She  made  one  bound  forward,  as  if  to  reclaim  the 
precious  burden  they  were  carrying  out ;  then,  recollecting 
herself,  cast  a  frantic  glance  at  the  circle  of  faces  around 
her,  and  reading  only  curiosity  in  their  steady  gaze,  felt 
perhaps  for  a  moment  as  some  snared  wild  creature 
might  do  on  suddenly  finding  itself  caged,  and,  flinging 
out  her  arms  as  if  to  grasp  at  some  support,  uttered  a 
shrill,  wailing  cry. 

All  drew  back,  many  startled,  some  moved  to  pity ; 
they  glanced  anxiously  at  her  and  at  one  another,  but 
no  one  came  forward  to  offer  help  or  comfort ;  no  one 
dared,  perhaps,  for  there  was  something  almost  threat 
ening  in  her  look.  A  voice  in  the  door-way  now  an- 


28U  UA  r.N  r*J)   nr  n;  fa. 

nonnccd  that  every  thing  was  ready,  and  tliat  the  bearers 
waiting  for  the  mourners  to  head  the  funeral  pro 
cession.  Still  no  movement.  There  \\:\  .  then 
a  murmur,  a  l.ivak  in  tin-  ring,  and  the  stern  clergyman, 
who  had  retired  at  the  conclusion  of  the  prayer,  came 
forward,  stcru  no  longer,  but  gentle,  pitiful,  fatherly. 

••My  chilil.  come  !  i-.»nie  with  me!"  he  said,  and 
made  a  motion  to  lead  her  away.  She  looked  up  into  his 
face,  as  if  to  read  there  "friend?"  or  "foe?"  A  tear 
stood  on  his  eyelid,  a  genuine  tear,  shed  for  her,  called 
forth  by  that  orphan  cry.  A  ray  of  sunlight  caught 
the  drop  and  it  glowed  with  prismatic  hues. 

"  Ilka  blade  o*  grass  kcps  its  ain  drap  o'  dew.' 

And  this  was  Angle's.  It  had  come  just  in  time  to  save 
her  heart  from  its  blighting  drought.  She  kept  it  well. 
It  was  the  tii  -t  nf  many  drops  sent  to  restore  her  soul. 
Blessings  on  it!  it  answered  her  better  than  words, — 
was  more  to  her  than  any  prayer. 

He  drew  her  arm  tenderly  through  his.  u  Come  with 
me,  my  dear,"  he  said  again,  in  a  persuasive  whisper, 
broken  by  emotion.  She  clung  to  him  as  a  dove  to  the 
ark.  and  he  led  her  away. 

The  people  followed,  but  they  were  behind  her  now, 
out  of  sight.  She  could  weep  without  their  knowl- 
:  and  she  did  weep,  for  kindness  had  unlocked  the 
fountain,  and  the  rei're-hinir  tear-  Mowed  again. 

The  dear  old  man  was  no  n-iraint.  He  guided  her 
gently  along  the  mad— ide  and  aero->  the  fii-ld>,  ivmein- 


THE   DROP    OF   DEW.        „  281 

bering  how  blinded  were  her  weeping  eyes.  It  was  not 
a  long  walk  from  the  farm-house  to  the  graveyard,  and 
he  did  not  venture  to  disturb  her  by  a  word.  Still, 
when  they  stood  at  length  by  the  open  grave,  his  mas 
sive  form  interposed  between  her  and  the  crowd,  and  his 
arm  supporting  her  tenderly  while  she  watched  them 
lower  the  coffin,  the  fierce,  wild,  rebellious  spirit  was 
gone  out  of  her  and  she  was  calm.  He  took  her  home 
by  a  circuitous  path  through  the  fields,  thus  avoiding  the 
curious  eyes  of  the  neighbors  who  might  be  loitering 
along  the  road-side,  watching  for  her  return. 

"  You  will  not  stay  alone  here  to-night,  poor  child  !  " 
he  said,  with  paternal  solicitude,  as  they  reached  the 
door. 

She  shook  her  head  in  the  negative,  and  pointed 
towards  Margery's  cottage. 

"  That  is  good  !  "  he  said  ;  "  that  is  good  !  I  could 
not  sleep  in  peace  to-night  if  you  were  to  be  left  here 
alone." 

Kind  old  man.  He  was  not  so  exclusive  in  his  notions, 
after  all,  as  to  believe  that  one's  earthly  p'eace  is  consist 
ent  with  the  knowledge  of  another's  pain,  however  he 
might  define  heavenly  joys.  Angie  thanked  him  by  a 
look. 

"  And  Sunday,"  he  said,  after  a  little  hesitation, 
"  Sunday  you  will  come  to  church." 

A  reluctant  expression  passed  over  her  face.  Her 
form  shrank  nervously  —  she  turned  away  her  head. 

"  Not  come  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  disappointment. 
24* 


•JNJ  HAUNTED    HEARTS, 

••  I  have  missed  your  lace  for  months  ]>a<t.  my  child. 
The  thought  of  it  haunts  me  in  my  pulpit,  and  intrudes 
i;  -rlf  into  mv  pravrr-." 

Ah,  poor,  weak,  old  man  !  lie  had  not  been  able  to 
quite  shut  her  out  of  the  sacred  places  then,  sinner 
though  she  was. 

Il«  waited  a  while  to  see  if  she  would  not  relent,  but 
she  gave  no  sign  of  yielding. 

"Not  to  please  your  old  pastor?  "he  said  at  length, 
coaxingly. 

She  half  turned  towards  him,  saw  enough  of  his  face 
to  read  how  much  in  earnest  he  was,  and  putting  a 
Btrong  constraint  upon  herself,  answered  promptly, 
44  Yes,  I  will  come." 

44  That's  right !  "  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands  in  hi-. 
approvingly.  "  That's  a  good  girl ;  God  bless  you  !  " 

He  was  going  now,  but  something  moved  him  .-:ill 
further  to  add.  layiiiir  a  hand  solemnly  on  her  head,  a> 
he  had  once  done,  months  before.  4'  And  He  will  bless 
you.  Do  not  doubt  that  you  have  a  Father  in  heaven  ! 
trust  every  thing,  both  in  the  past  and  the  future,  to  him  ; 
fear  nothing  ;  remember  that  his  mercy  is  infinite." 

Inconsistent  old  man  !  Where  now  are  his  narrow 
creed,  his  pitiless  judgments,  his  irrevocable  decrees  ?  He 
has  either  risen  above  or  fallen  below  them  all.  a-  how 
many  like  him.  in  every  age  an-l  of  every  faith,  have  done, 
when  Humanity  has  pleaded  aLrain>t  dogma. 

Iile>sin<rs,  then,  on  the  heart  that  was  wiser  than  the 
head.  The  dominie  mijrht  argue  as  he  j  M  the 


THE   DROP    OF  DEW.  \  283 

nature  of  faith,  the  claim  to  salvation,  the  divine  char 
acter  ;  the  heart  would  still  appeal  from  the  doctrine  to  the 
man.  The  harsh  outlines,  the  severe  coloring  of  his  the 
ology,  mattered  not  to  Angie,  so  long  as  looking  in  childlike 
veneration  to  him,  she  beheld  an  earthly  portraiture 
that  aided  her  conception  of  the  Highest.  Could 
angels  be  less  pitying  than  he,  God  less  loving,  heaven 
less  near  ?  She  asked  not ;  it  was  something  (for  the 
present  it  was  enough  for  her)  to  love,  to  trust,  to  believe 
in  him. 


II. *L'X  TED    HEARTS. 


CHATTER    XIX. 

THE    VOICE    OF    PUBLIC    OPINION. 

THK  neighbors,  even  from  their  distant  point  of  view, 
had  prophesied  truly.  K\ery  thiug  had  long  been  going 
to  rack  and  ruin  at  the  Cousin  farm,  and  a  gem-nil  break 
ing  up  was  uo\v  inevitable.  Diedrieh  Stein,  as  a  maun- 
of  course,  was  in  at  the  dividing  of  the  spoils.  He  <lul 
not  openly  appear  as  holder  of  the  mortgage  on  the 
estate,  which  was  foreclosed  the  very  day  after  the  old 
Frenchman's  death,  but  somehow  In-  had  a  hand  in  the 
proceeding,  and,  as  it  proved,  reape<]  the  profits,  lie 
ma '!«.•  out  the  inventory  of  personal  property  too  ;  practice 
had  rendered  him  an  adept  in*  that  sort  of  thing.  He 
knew  how  to  put  a  light  appraisal  on  every  thing  that 
could  possibly  be  made  serviceable  at  the  tavern;  and 
although  Mr.  Cousin's  floating  debts  must  have  been 
inconsiderable,  and  there  were  still  articles  of  value  on 
the  plaee.  it  >o  happen. -d  that  between  Stein  ami  an  attor 
ney  who  had  the  srttlini:  <>f  the  eMate,  nothing  was  left 
for  An,!.'  .  \<-<j>t  the  mea-rc  furniture  of  her  own  roem  ; 
whieh  was  n-j.rctcd  less  from  courtesy  than  from  a 


.     'E    VOICE    OF  PUBLIC    OPINION.  285 

vague  notion  these  harpies  had  that  it  was  an  inherit 
ance  from  her  mother,  and  could  not  be  meddled  with. 
Hers  was  now  a  case  either  for  charity  or  the  work 
house,  and  the  former  prevailed ;  though  it  could  not 
be  said  to  be  charity  alone  which  threw  open  a  door  to 
the  orphan.  Self-interest  gave  it  a  slight  push.  Han 
nah  Rawle  liked  Angie  ;  she  had  detected  her  capability 
the  first  time  she  saw  her  put  on  the  tea-kettle  ;  she 
recognized  in  her  none  of  the  faults  of  which  she  had 
been  accused  in  the  neighborhood.  She  acquitted  her, 
as  we  have  seen,  of  all  blame  in  Geordie's  case,  just  as 
she  acquitted  herself  and  Baultie.  Instinctively  she  had 
become  a  sort  of  champion  of  the  girl.  She  saw  the  need 
of  her  too,  for  Margery's  remnant  of  energy  was  gone, 
her  own  limbs  were  getting  stiff  and  rheumatic,  and  she 
shrewdly  calculated  on  the  gain  an  infusion  of  young  life 
would  be  to  the  household.  "  S'posen  you  come  an'  stop 
with  us  a  spell?"  was  the  way  in  which  she  worded  her 
invitation.  Margery's  silent  face  said  ii  Do  !  "  And 
Angie  came  —  the  spell  was  never  broken  ;  it  lasted, 
with  only  slight  interruptions — to  the  end  of  their  lives. 
That  the  nearest  relations  of  George  Rawle  should 
thus  open  their  doors  to  Angie  Cousin  was  a  crying 
aggravation  to  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood.  Event 
ually  it  told  greatly  in  Angie's  favor  ;  —  but  at  first  the 
old  women  were  pronounced  the  "  victims  o'  that  gal's  lyin' 
arts,"  were  abused  for  their  indifference  to  Geordie's 
misfortune,  or,  among  the  more  charitably-disposed,  were 
declared  to  be  in  their  dotage.  Only  after  time  had 


286  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

made  their  relations  familiar,  and  experience  had  proved 
them  harmonious,  did  the  public  condescend  to  approve 
tin-  arrangement  which  gave  Aiigie  and  the  two  widows 
a  home  together. 

They  were  poor  —  very  poor.  Stein,  that  long-fin 
gered  Sit-in,  had  virtually  robbed  them  all.  Tin-  law  had 
helped  him ;  somehow  the  law  always  seemed  to  be  on 
hifl  side.  lie  had  inherited,  through  his  wife  (win., 
though  otherwise  a  mere  kitchen  hand,  was  a  convenient 
link  here)  the  better  part  of  what  remained  of  Baultie's 
property.  If  there  was  a  will,  it  had  disappeared  with 
the  other  papers,  and  every  thing  but  the  widow's  thirds 
—  a  mere  pittance,  as  it  proved,  under  Stein's  manage 
ment —  went  to  the  family  at  the  tavern.  Van  Ilrui.-eii 
tried  to  interfere  here,  to  persuade  Margery  that  George's 
death  took  place  later  than  that  of  his  uncle;  that  she 
herself  could  prove  him  to  have  been  living  until  half 
past  two  o'clock  on  the  morning  after  the  murder,  and 
that  she  might  yet  e.-tal»li.-h  a  claim  as  her  son's  heir  — 
but  Margery  shrank  from  the  subject,  shook  her  head  in 
a  way  that  forbade  legal  inquiry  into  those  dreadful  par 
ticulars,  and  was  altogether  so  shattered  and  di-trcssed 
by  any  allusion  to  the  subject,  that  Dick  dropped  the 
matter,  and  forbore  alluding  to  it  again,  though  he  and 
Hannah  indulged  themselves  in  vehement  in  \erti  \, - 
a.irain.-t  Stein  and  his  covetous  practices.  To  crown  his 
other  grasping  acts,  this  unnatural  brother  began  even  to 
demur  regarding  Margery's  rights  to  the  continued  occu 
pation  of  her  cottage  and  the  adjacent  land,  claiming  it  to 


THE     VOICE    OF    PUBLIC    OPINION.          287 

be  an  entailed  estate,  the  heirship  to  which,  in  default 
of  George's  life,  became  vested  in  Peter  and  Polly  Stein ; 
and  this  question,  which  involved  the  very  roof  over  the 
old  women's  heads,  was  only  compromised  by  their 
consenting  to  pay  to  Stein  an  annnal  tribute  of  half  the 
wood  cut  on  the  piece  of  timber-land  which  constituted 
the  only  remnant  of  the  farm. 

What  remained  after  the  ravages  thus  made  on  their 
property,  was  so  little  that  they  were  at  all  times  sadly 
pinched,  and  occasionally  suffered  from  want.  The  first 
winter  after  Angie  came  to  live  with  them  was  one  of 
scarcely  less  privation  and  anxiety  than  she  had  lately 
endured  in  her  own  home.  But  for  the  share  of  Van 
Hausen's  earnings,  which  found  its  way,  in  one  form  or 
another,  into  their  dwelling,  and  relieved  the  case,  and 
one  other  source  of  aid  hereafter  to  be  mentioned,  these 
poor  women  might  have  frozen  or  starved.  The  next  sea 
son  things  went  better  with  them,  and  the  event  justified 
Hannah  Rawle's  expectations  from  Angie.  Laboring  un 
der  the  direction  of  the  old  woman,  whose  mental  energies 
were  unimpaired,  and  whose  limbs  were  less  cramped  than 
they  had  been  the  preceding  season,  the  youthful  member 
of  the  household  wrought  willingly  and  to  good  purpose  ; 
and  such  was  the  result  of  their  mutual  perseverance  and 
thrift,  that  they  not  only  secured  daily  subsistence,  but 
laid  by  a  little  store  for  the  necessities  of  the  coming 
winter.  Between  them  they  cultivated  a  kitchen-garden, 
raised  vegetables  and  herbs,  and  prepared  dried  apples 
and  peaches  for  the  market.  Angie  kept  bees,  turkeys, 


288  n  M   \  ••/•/  :n    Hi-:  ARTS. 

and  hen-,  and  went  iv_rul:irly  to  the  market  town,  where 
she  exchanged  tin-  product-  of  poultry-yard,  garden,  and 
hi\e  for  family  necessaries,  or  sometimes  a  little  hard 
Otth.  A  l'c\v  .-beep,  which  fed  in  their  only  bit  of  pas 
ture-land  hy  day.  and  were  carefully  folded  by  Angie 
every  night,  funiMied  the  wool  which  kept  Margery's 
spinning-wheel  going  all  the  summer-day,  and  gave  occu 
pation  to  all  their  knitting-needles  during  tho  long  winter 
evenings.  Thus  united  in  their  labors,  and  .-liaring  the 
same  round  of  petty  cares,  these  three  women,  thrown 
together  less  by  choice  than  by  the  shock  of  calamities, 
drifted,  as  it  were,  by  whirlwinds  upon  the  same  shoal, 
had  now  one  home,  one  pur>e.  one  lot. 

And  so  they  lived  in  each  others'  sight  by  day,  and  sat 
round  the  same  fireside  at  night,  familiar  to  each  other's 
gaze,  acquainted,  as  each  believed,  with  the  experiences 
that  had  moulded  the  other's  destiny.  And  yet  the 
knowledge  they  possessed  wa-  the  merest  fraction  of 
the  whole.  There  were  depths  in  each  heart  which 
none  but  God  could  know,  much  less  could  sound. 

Look  at  them ;  look  closely  at  these  three  lives, 
apparently  so  blended  into  one,  in  reality  so  isolated. 
Margery  Kawle,  moving  about  like  an  automaton, 
silent,  calm,  seemingly  resigned,  but  dying,  by  degrees, 
of  the  terrible  thought  that  >he  was  the  mother  of  dark 
ness,  mystery,  and  crime;  that  the  life  .-In-  had  given 
had  murdered  life,  —  more  than  one  life,  —  another's  — 
its  own  —  her-. 

Angie,  scorned  and  pitied  by  the  world  as  the  breaker 


THE    VOICE    OF   I'UBLIC    O  1>  1 X i O N .  289 

of  an  honest  heart,  and  herself  broken-hearted,  meekly 
bearing  this  obloquy  and  shame,  if  so  she  might  help  to 
shield  her  dead  lover  from  a  more  terrible  name  than 
that  of  a  suicide. 

And  the  widow  of  the  murdered  man,  stern,  erect, 
determined,  —  a  bitter  mourner  for  the  dead,  whom  she 
now  never  named,  —  often  wearying  of  her  own  life,  and 
secretly  wishing  to  be  at  rest,  but  bearing  up  in  the 
belief  that  she  was  destined  some  day  to  be  the  instru 
ment  of  a  righteous  retribution,  and  clinging  to  the 
other  two,  as  in  some  sort  capable  of  corroborating  her 
testimony,  and  insuring  the  gallows  its  victim,  while  they 
saw  in  her  hand  the  uplifted  sword  that  might  any  day 
smite  the  last  stronghold  of  their  affections,  and  often 
trembled  at  the  sound  of  that  voice  which  was  to  them 
the  trump  of  the  avenger. 

For  while  all  other  horrors  were  laid  away  among  the 
things  of  the  past,  that  one  possibility  of  the  future  — 
discovery  —  continued  always  to  haunt  the  hearts  of  these 
three  sufferers  from  the  crime  ;  to  the  one  an  eager  hope, 
—  to  the  other  two  a  mortal  dread.  The  one  cherished 
her  life  that  she  might  aid  in  laying  bare  the  guilt,  and 
condemning  the  guilty  ;  either  of  the  other  two  would  have 
died  to  save  poor  Geordie's  name  from  further  infamy. 

And  the  thought  of  each  heart  was  secret. 

Types   of  mortality  !      God    setteth    the    solitary   in 

families,  and  gives  man  a  social  sphere  to  move  in.     But 

each   soul  still  dwells  alone  with  God.     Deep  down  in 

its  own  consciousness  is  a  world  no  friend  nor  foe  can 

25 


11  A  r  \  y/.  />    //  /  .1  /;  /  I. 

fathom.  "Will  these  thing-  ri-e  in  the  iv.-unvctiou  ?  If 
so,  what  love-,  what  hate-,  what  memorie-,  wl.  it  fear-, 
\\liat  mi-t .-ik. •-.  what  sorrows,  what  secret  sins  will  flash 
their  light  on  tin-  mysterious  past,  and  lay  heart  bare  to 
heart  : 

\!  ;mwhile  ( lod  kno\\  -  ail.  All  this  .-in  of  our- ?  ( ), 
terrible  thought  !  I  low  shall  \\v  c-capr  hi-  wrath? 

How?  Because  lie  knows  r///.  —  tlu-  conflict-,  the 
temptation-,  the  agony,  tin-  u-ar-,  the  repentance.  Tlu-iv- 
i'«>n-  In-  loves  and  s])an-s  :  and  hence,  as  one  has  tom-h- 
ingly  said.  ••  lxcdenij)tion  is  the  charity  of  Clod." 

And  the  price  of  this  redemption  —  this  charity?  At 
what  cost  shall  it  be  ours?  The  answer  is  written  in 
the  Book,  —  "  For-ive.  and  ye.  .-hall  he  foririven."  God, 
who  knows  all,  pardons  all.  Pardon,  then.  >hort-si-lite<l 
mortal,  the  things  that  yon  know,  for  the  sake  of  things 
that  you  know  not. 

It  seemed  as  if  thoe  three  women  comprehended  in 
some  degree  the  my.-tery.  lor  l»y  tacit  consent  they  li\ed 
to-_r,-thcr  in  an  unquestioning  faith.  Calamity  had  fallen 
on  them  all.  and  silence  was  it-  handmaid.  Each  had 
her  -peetral  thought,  and  shuddered  at  it  ;  hut  each 
accepted  her  destiny,  liowrd  beneath  it,  and  complained 
not.  And  time  wore  on. 

Their  hou-i  hold  life  being  such  as  I  have  described  it, 
one  may  well  conceive  that  they  had  little  time  or  incli 
nation  for  iiitereour-e  with  tlu-ir  neighbors.  Although 
-  ivpiiLMiaiiee  t<>  fecfcjp  \\  a>  but  partially  O\,T- 
ii  \\a-  ehietly  through  her  thai  -orial  relations 


THE    VOICE    OF   PUBLIC    OPINION.  291 

were  maintained  between  the  inmates  of  the  cottage 
and  the  world  outside.  Occasionally  Van  Hausen  made 
them  brief  visits, '  and  now  and  then  some  market- 
gardener  or  travelling  pedle"r  called  at  the  door,  and 
had  occasion  to  transact  some  small  matter  of  trade 
with  Hannah,  who  always  proved  herself,  as'  report 
said,  smart  as  ever  at  a  bargain.  But,  as  Angie  went 
frequently  to  market,  and  purchased  whatever  was  re 
quired  from  the  country  grocery-store,  and,  ever  since 
the  appeal  made  to  her  by  the  dominie,  went  regularly  to 
church,  it  was  inevitable  that  her  former  familiarity  with 
the  neighborhood  should  be  to  some  degree  resumed,  or 
new  and  different  relations  be  established  on  the  basis  of 
her  altered  character  and  circumstances. 

It  was  hard  for  poor  Angie  at  first,  however,  and 
awkward  and  trying  even  for  the  best-intentioned  of  her 
neighbors.  The  Stein's  Plains  people  were  not  the  most 
hard-hearted  or  censorious  people  in  the  world.  It  was 
love  and  pity  for  poor  Geordie,  after  all,  which  made 
them  so  bitter  against  her  who  had  been,  as  they  be 
lieved,  his  ruin.  Had  the  cases  been  reversed,  they 
Avould  have  remembered  her  with  tenderness,  and  scorned 
and  hated  him  as  the  destroyer.  Nor  did  Angie  expect 
or  claim  any  more  lenient  treatment  at  their  hands  ;  did 
they  know  all  that  she  knew,  they  might  shudder  more 
at  the  thought  of  George  ;  but  they  would  scarcely  fear 
any  the  less  the  moral  contagion  of  her  presence.  As  one 
secretly  tainted  with  disease  secludes  himself,  from  dread 
of  polluting  the  surrounding  atmosphere,  so  she  shrank 


HAUXTEI)    III. '  1  /;  TS. 

* 

morbidly  from  the  society  to  which  she  felt  herself  an 
alii  n.  I1»T  former  associates  had  no  need  to  flee  from 
her;  she  instinctively  avoided  them.  • 

So  it  happened  that  lor  several  Sundays  ai'tor  she 
re.-umed  her  attendance  at  church.  she  went  and  came 
S|M -echloss,  and  unspoken  to  by  any  one.  Several  had 
intended  to  make  a  point  of  bowing  to  her  ;  a  few.  m<>\  ed 
either  I iy  kindness  or  curiosity,  had  prepared  something 
to  say;  but  she  gave  them  no  opportunity,  slipping  into 
her  place  after  most  of  the  congregation  were  assembled 
for  the  service,  and  at  its  close  escaping  in  advance  of 
her  own  sex,  and  gliding  through  the  little  crowd  of  men 
outside  the  porch  without  looking  to  right  or  left,  her 
cold,  reserved  expression  forbidding  any  one  to  address 
her. 

There  was  no  embargo,  however,  upon  the  eyes  and 
ears  of  the  congregation ;  and  their  tongues,  when 
loosened  for  one  another's  benefit,  in  the  porch  or  on 
the  homeward  drive,  were  not  slow  in  making  their 
comments  upon  an  object  so  open  to  gossip  as  Angie 

had  become. 

"  Did  you  see  Augie  Cousin?  "  whispers  one. 

"My!  ain't  she  changed,  though?"  is  the  prompt 
reply. 

••  Mir  takes  ijood  care  ;<>  k--ep  nut  of  the  way,"  criea  a 
third. 

"Well  .-he  may  —  she  might  t«>."  allirm-  a  fourth. 
u  Who  piiie>  her?  "    e\elaim>  an  implacable  voice. 
"  She  needed  to  be  taken  down,"  is  the  moral  conclu 
sion  flung  out  at  this. 


THE    VOICE    OF   PUBLIC    OPINION.  293 

"  Her  beauty's  all  gone,"  says  Susan  Rycker,  triumph 
antly,  to  Joel  Beck. 

"  Looks  as  y eared  as  a  young  calf,  what  with  her  pale 
face  and  them  short  curls  o'  hern,"  responds  the  honest 
youth,  who  has  had  the  reputation  of  "gawking  round 
after  Angie  "  all  through  his  boyhood,  but  who  scorns 
her  now  for  poor  Geordie's  sake. 

"  I  allers  said  she'd  come  out  at  the  little  end  o'  the 
horn,"  remarks  Dame  Rycker,  glancing  complacently  at 
Susan,  who  has  just  arrived  at  the  great  end,  Joel  having 
yesterday  proposed. 

"  I  bless  the  Lord  no  darter  o'  mine  ever  made  her 
self  such  a  town  warnin' !  "  is  the  pious  thanksgiving 
of  the  chief  of  the  Pharisees. 

Such  was  the  burden  of  the  murmur  through  which 
Angie  flitted,  ghostlike,  for  half  a  dozen  successive  Sun 
days  ;  a  manoeuvre  on  her  part  which  was  instinctive, 
almost  involuntary,  disappointing  not  only  those  among 
her  former  friends,  who,  instigated  perhaps  by  the  domi 
nie's  example  at  the  funeral,  had  meant  to  have  a  neigh 
borly  chat  with  her,  but  disappointing  the  dominie,  who 
looked  vainly  for  her  among  the  crowd  gathered  around 
the  porch,  disappointing  even  Angie  herself,  who  yearned 
for  a  kiad  word  from  the  good  pastor,  but  still  could  not 
resist  the  impulse  to  escape  from  the  church  before  he 
had  time  to  reach  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs.  She 
had  the  refreshment  of  seeing  his  eye  turn  always  in  her 
direction  when  she  took  her  seat,  with  a  look  that  was 
benediction  ;  her  single  drop  of  dew  for  the  week  —  the 
25* 


HI  "  '  '   v  T*B  nr.ARTS. 

only  niir.  That  alone  repaid  her  lor  tin*  cll'orl  -he  ina«li' 
in  coming,  but  .-In-  thir.-u-d  f<>r  more.  At  la.-t  circum- 
Mances  befriended  IHT.  A  thundcr-.-ho\\vr  came  ii|> 
during  service  time,  ami  .-eitlcd  into  a  steady  rain.  Tin- 
roads  were  tl'io-l.-d.  tin-  rain  still  pouring  heavily  when 
the  congregation  were  dismi.-scd.  As  u.-ual  on  such 

ions,  the  men  and  boys,  who  wriv  accustomed  to 
take  their  station  outside,  cnmdrd  the  porch  and  blocked 
up  the  passage,  and  the  women  thronging  down  the  aisle 
were  squeezed  into  narrow  quarters.  For  a  while 
Angle's  exit  was  forbidden,  and  she  found  herself  in 
volved  with  the  crowd,  who  were  too  busy  pinning  up 
dresses,  covering  bonnets  with  handkerchief-,  and  other- 
\\i-c  preparing  to  meet  the  storm,  to  take  much  notice  of 
her.  Some  who  lived  at  a  distance  were  inviting  others 
to  take  seats  in  their  w  a  irons  ;  sons  and  brother-  were 
elbowing  their  way  in  to  announce  the-e  rn-tie  rquip. 
si.-ters  and  mothers,  well  pinned  up  and  prepared,  were 
making  their  way  out,  beckoning  to  other  members  of 
their  hon-ehold-  to  follow.  Few  lived  farther  from  the 
church  than  Angle,  but  no  one  imited  her  lo  ride  even 
any  portion  of  the  way.  There  was  some  excuse  for 
them.  The  minister  had  jiiM  been  preaching  about  sepa 
rating  one's  .-elf  from  sinners.  lie  had  drawi*  terribly 
sharp  lines,  had  painted  eternal  fires,  and  warned  the 
virtuous  against  guilty  contagion.  And  Angic  was 
about  the  guilt ie-t  person  they  knew  of  jnM  now,  the 
mo>t  marked  >ubject  for  a\..idance.  One  or  luo.  indeed. 

i   at  her  askance;   there  was  a  whi-pered  concilia- 


THE    VOICE    OF    I1  U  B  L  I  C    O  P  I  &  1  O  X .  295 

tion  near  her ;  but  Angle,  catching  sound  of  her  own 
name,  did  not  await  the  result  of  the  conference.  She 
saw  a  gap  in  the  crowd,  darted  through,  and  set  out  for 
home  in  spite  of  the  rain>  just  before  Dominie  Van 
Zandt,  for  whom  every  body  made  way,  gained  the  door, 
and  looked  anxiously  up  and  down  the  road.  She 
had  no  umbrella,  and  was  thinly  clad  ;  it  was  almost  im 
possible  to  avoid  the  puddles  ;  in  a  few  moments  she 
must  inevitably  be  drenched  with  the  rain  ;  one  wagon, 
driven  carelessly  past,  nearly  ran  over  her ;  another  be 
spattered  her  with  mud.  There  is  something  pitiful  in 
being  wet  through,  something  mortifying  in  being  drab 
bled  with  mud,  something  forsaken  in  being  on  foot  and 
exposed  to  the  storm  when  every  body  else  is  protected 
and  comfortable.  Angie  has  pride  enough  left  to  be  more 
conscious  of  the  neighbors'  wagons  coming  up  behind 
than  she  is  of  the  rain  ;  sensitiveness  enough  to  feel  the 
familiar  eyes  looking  down  upon  her  more  acutely  than 
she  feels  the  cold  east  wind  that  is  blowing.  So  she  walk^s 
fast,  and  gets  the  more  spattered  and  wet  for  doing  so, 
and  cannot  hope  to  outstrip  the  carriages  after  all.  Even 
now,  there  is  one  coming  up  at  full  speed ;  how  the  old 
vehicle  rattles  !  every  spoke  in  its  wheels  seems  alive  ! 
now  it  is  alongside  —  ah,  it  stops  !  It  is  the  dominie's 
antique  "  shay." 

"  Jump  in  !  my  dear,  jump  in  out  of  the  rain  !  "  cries 
the  old  man,  who  has  himself  alighted,  and  whose  broad 
cloth  is  exposed  to  the  torrent,  while  he  assists  Angie 
into  the  vehicle  with  the  gallantry  of  a  century  ago. 


•J'.'G  n  t  i   \  /  r i>  in  .1  a  /•<. 

l*  There,  l.-t  me  button  up  the  boot  on  your  side  I  That 
is  right  ;  now  we  an-  snug  !  "  and  he  chirrups  to  his  old 
nag. 

The  dominie  is  going  quite  out  of  his  way  this  rainy 
afternoon,  too  !  Fie  on  you.  fanner  this  and  deacon  that, 
who  are  coming  up  just  behind!  You,  who  li\e  near, 
iniirht  have  iriven  the  orphan  a  lilt  so  ea-ilv.  and  saved 
your  old  parson  the  trouble. 

But  he  does  not  seem  to  think  it  a  trouble.  How 
kindly  he  talk*  to  her  !  How  careful  he  is  not  to  notice 
that  she  is  dripping  at  all  points  like  a  wet  umbrella  ! 
I  b>w  fast  he  drives,  so  as  to  deposit  his  damp  passenger 
at  her  home  as  quickly  as  possible  ! 

"I  have  watched  for  you  every  Sunday,  my  child." 
he  says.  "It  has  done  my  heart  Lrood  to  see  you  in 
your  old  seat.  But  von  hav  m-ver  iriven  me  a  chance 
to  speak  to  you.  Why  do  you  run  awav 

"I  don't  run  from  T/OM,  sir,"  Augie  answers,  with 
•emphasis. 

"Ah,  yes,  I  understand;  you  don't  like  to  meet  the 
congregation.  Ah,  yes ;  well,  that's  natural,  I  suppose, 
but  not  a  good  thing  for  you.  though.  No,  not  a  good 
thiuir.  You  live  too  much  alone,  and  with  the  old  people. 
Come  and  see  us  some  day,  my  dear.  Come  and  so- 
Mr-.  Van  Zandt.  She'll  be  very  glad  to  see  you.  But 
she's  old  too."  he  continued,  a-  it'  the  thought  took  him 
by  surprise.  ••¥><.  and  paralytie  —  poor,  dear  sou!! 
it'-  hard  tor  me  to  reali/e  that.  But  never  mind."  lie 
added  eneoiira-in'jlv.  "  pfee'l  «•! rl'ul  and  patienl.  h 


THE    VOICE    OF    PUBLIC    OPINION.  297 

will  do  you  good  to  sec  her.  It  does  every  body  good, 
always.  We're  both  old.  I  didn't  think  of  that  when  I 
asked  you  to  come  ;  but  it  will  be  a  change.  We'll 
make  it  as  pleasant  to  you  as  we  can,  and  perhaps  your 
young  fingers  can  do  a  good  turn  for  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  so 
be  sure  and  come  ; "  and,  to  make  the  matter  sure,  he 
named  a  day. 

How  this  adroit  hint  that  she  might  be  of  use  wrought 
upon  Angie,  how  she  accepted  the  invitation,  how  it 
opened  the  door  to  that  influence  of  the  old  couple,  which 
was,  henceforth,  like  summer  showers  to  the  dry  ground 
of  her  life,  belongs  to  that  sacred  history  of  friendship 
which  can  never  be  written.  Like  God's  fountain  in  the 
desert,  it  is  often  mysterious  in  its  source,  small  in  its 
beginnings,  but  steals  into  the  heart  of  existence,  wan 
ders  through  all  its  mazes,  widening  as  it  goes,  waters 
and  enriches  at  every  step  of  its  progress,  and  never 
pauses  in  its  work  of  beneficence  until  it  is  merged  at 
last  in  that  sea  of  boundless  love  which  rounds  the 
universe. 

What  the  old  couple  were  to  Angie  was  best  shown 
by  the  fruits  of  the  renovation  to  which  their  kindness 
proved  the  life-spring. 

The  most  tangible  of  these  fruits,  and  those  which 
appealed  most  directly  to  the  material  mind  of  Hannah, 
were  the  profits  of  the  needlework  which  the  parson  and 
his  wife  contrived,  out  of  the  poverty  of  the  parsonage,  to 
pay  Angie  liberally  for  doing,  and  the  superfluities  from 
the  annual  donation  party  which  helped  the  inmates  of 


-j:ix  ;/  /  /    v  /•/:/;    ///    f  /:  / 

tin-  collate  to  eke  out  ;i  Mil)-i-lence  that  lirM  winter  of 
their  miit'-d  experience.  A  le.-s  .-ul»tan!ial  hut  nol  leSfl 
marked  effect  of  tl  aner  li«-.-iowrd  on  Angle  at 

tin-  par.-ona.re  was  tin-  growing  charily  for  hrr  which  it 
excited  iu  the  neighborhood)  as  well  as  an  increasing 
confidence  on  her  jiai't  in  the  irem  ral  good  will.  It  in-vrr 
aLrain  liapi»i-nc(l  that  .-hew.'  1  to  rai;i.  snow,  or 

sun-stroke  lor  \\-ant  of  Invitations  to  take  a  seat  in  ,-oine- 
body's  \ehicle  on  Sundays,  and  on  inarki-t-days  the  i'ar- 
mera,  living  farther  up  the  cross-road,  frequciitty  offered 
her  a  place  in  their  wagons  cither  in  iroin^  or  retnrninir. 
At  first  Angie  was  chary  of  acceptini:  these  )io-j»i[alities, 
but  hers  was  not  a  nature  to  resist  kindness  or  harhor 
sn-picion.  With  the  children  e.-pecially,  anioiiir  whom 
>he.  like  her  father,  or  perhaps  partly  for  hi.-  >ake, 
had  always  l»een  a  prime  favorite,  her  former  relations 
were  easily  iv.Mimed  :  thi-ir  i-a.^-r  petition.  ••  Hide  with  n>. 
^V11Lrie  —  riJc  with  us?"  or  their  contention-  for  the  plan- 
next  her  either  in  pew  or  wagon,  were  too  coaxing  to  be 
ted.  'I'll''  a-jvd  friends  of  Margery  Mini  Hannah  too, 
with  their  weekly  anxiety  concerning  the  old  widow<' 
health,  wen4  sure  to  be  pleased  with  her  grateful  ac 
knowledgment  of  their  inquiries,  and  all.  of  every  a'jv. 
softened  in  their  judgment  of  her  as  time  threw  pa-i 
events  into  the  hackgronnd.  and  brought  virtue-  of  hers. 
both  old  and  new.  into  prominence. 

I  have  made  the  voi.v  of  common  go>-ip  a  rough 
index  to  her  social  -landing  at  various  points  in  my 
storv.  Hear  now  what  pnlilic  opinion  had  to  say  of 


THE    VOICE    OF    PUBLIC    OPINION.  299 

her  some  three  years  later  than  any  period  yet  touched 
upon.  The  dialogue  I  quote  took  place  between  Briny 
Rycker  and  the  mother  of  six  boys  before-mentioned. 

"Was  Angie  Cousin  to  meetin'?"  was  the  opening 
remark  from  the  latter 

"  Yes  ;  but  she  looked  real  dragged  out." 

"  And  no  wonder  ;  I  think  they've  imposed  upon  her 
up  at  Beck's.  She's  most  killed  herself  nussin'  that 
baby." 

"  Law,  she  didn't  seem  to  think  it  any  hardship.  She 
happened  in  there  sort  of  by  accident,  just  as  the  baby 
was  taken  bad  with  the  snuffles.  Hannah  sent  her  to 
see  Joel  about  killing  their  pig,  but  when  she  saw  how 
bad  on't  the  baby  was,  she  took  right  hold,  jest  as  she 
always  does." 

"  Poor  little  feller  !  how  many  days  was  that  afore  he 
died?" 

"Three  —  three  days  and  nights  that  Angie  Cousin 
never  had  her  clothes  off." 

"  Why,  where  was  his  mother,  I  want  to  know?  " 

"Susin?  Why,  between  you  and  me,  she  gave  out, 
and  went  to  bed.  She  cried,  and  said  she  couldn't  bear 
to  see  him  suffer  so  ;  and  she  managed  to  bring  on  the 
dysterics,  and  her  mother  and  Miss  Beck  had  just  as 
much  as  they  could  do  to  keep  her  quiet." 

"And  left  poor  Angie  to  do  all  the  tendin'  o'  that  sick 
child?" 

"  Wai !  it  didn't  matter  much  ;  after  the  first  day  he 
wouldn't  go  to  nobody  else.  She  tended  him  handy-like, 


3UU  H.I  '    V  it  />    HI    I  UTS. 

you  see;  there's  nobody  like  her  with  cliircrn.     As  for 
our  Susin,  —  wal,  p'raji>.  I  onirht  not  to  say  so,  but  she's 

about   till-   shifth'SSest    j'ieee  ever    1    did   -.,." 

••  So  Angie  was  the  only  one  that  could  quiet  that 
dyin'  child!  I  declare.  -he's  jest  like  her  dear  old 
father.  Hmv  ho  did  use  to  pet  my  boya  !  There's 
Sain  remembers  him  now  jest  as  if  it  was  only  yes 
terday  that  he  used  to  coax  him  with  candy,  and  Midi 
like." 

••  Why."  said  Miss  Briny,  u  you  ought  to  have 
that  little  feller  and  her  the  night  afore  he  died.  It  v,  a  ; 
a  real  touching  sight,  the  way  she'd  walk  up  and 
with  him  by  the  hour,  and  he  no  light  weight  either  ; 
ami  when  he  got  kind  of  quiet,  and  she  laid  him  on  the 
bed,  she  couldn't  move  an  inch  from  him  but  he'd 
scream  out.  The  little  thing  dropped  off  sudden  at 
last.  Why,  't  wan't  half  an  hour  afore  he  drew  his 
last  breath  that  Miss  Beck  see  him  a  smilin'  at  Angiu 
and  a  twistiu'  one  of  her  curls  round  his  little  fat  fingers. 
lie  had  revulsions  jest  afterwards,  and  they'd  hardly 
time  to  call  the  folks  'fore  he  was  stretched  out  like 
a  poor  little  dead  bird." 

"An*  she  fixed    him    for  the    grave    an'  all,  so    I've 


"Every  thing.  She  didn't  want  any  help  she  said. 
She  wa.-hrd  ami  dre--ed  l,jm.  and  enrled  his  hair  as 
purty  as  could  be  'fore  his  mother  saw  him  again  ; 
an'  he  did  look  like  a  j.ieter,  for  he  wan't  wasted 
a  mite." 


THE    VOICE    OF   PUBLIC    OP1JX10X.  301 

"  Wai !  I  declare  she's  a  wonderful  gal.  I  couldn't 
do  it  for  no  child  myself,  and  I  the  mother  o'  six." 

u  She  was  always  the  capablest  creetur  in  the  world," 
remarked  Briny. 

"  Yes,  but  it's  a  different  sort  o'  things  she  turns  her 
hand  to  now  from  what  it  was  once.  There  seems  to  be 
nothin'  but  what  she  can  bring  her  mind  to  since  she  see 
sufferin'  herself." 

"  She's  a  real  subdued  character,"  said  Miss  Briny, 
"  an'  not  one  o'  the  selfish  sort,  neither." 

"  She  jest  devotes  herself  to  those  old  women,  they 
say,  and  yet  she  finds  time  to  tend  babies,  an'  nuss  sick 
folks,  an'  go  a  nuttin'  with  the  chil'en  ;  every  body  de-. 
pends  on  her  for  'mergencies  like  that  at  Beck's  ;  and  as 
for  Mis'  Van  Zandt,  she  can't  seem  to  get  along  more  'n 
a  week  to  time  without  her." 

"  I  don't  know  what  would  ha'  become  o'  poor  Mis' 
Stein  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Angie,"  remarked  Briny. 
"  'Twas  winter  time,  you  know,  when  she  was  taken 
down  with  her  last  sickness,  and  there  was  nobody  to  do 
a  thing  to  make  her  comfortable.  Stein  had  no  more 
consideration  for  her  than  for  an  old  churn  that  was  past 
use.  Peter  was  drunk  as  a  sot  all  the  time,  and  a  dis 
grace  to  the  neighborhood ;  and  as  for  Polly,  —  vval, 
the  Lord  knows  where  she  was  or  is  ;  the  least  thought 
or  said  about  Polly  the  better." 

"  Poll  has  never  once  shown  herself  hereabout,  has 
she  ?  "  spoken  mysteriously.  •  % 

"  Never.     Not  even  at  her  mother's  funeral." 
26 


n  .\  c  .\  /•/•:  />   ///    i  /.-  TS. 

k'l)o  you  s'po-e  they've  any  idea  what's  become  of 
her?" 

••  I  don't  know  in  the  least.  Stein  went  to  York  two 
or  three  times  —  so  I've  heerd,  and  tried  to  hunt  her  up. 
P'raps  he  found  her  —  anyhow  he  never  let  on  a  word 
about  her  to  any  body  as  I  can  Irani." 

"  The  neighborhood  was  cheated  lor  a  while  with  the 
notion  that  she  was  larniu'  the  millinery  trade,  but  no 
body  believes  that  now,  I  s'po-e." 

••  Nobody's  quite  such  a  fool,  I  reckon.  My  si. -ter 
m-law  did  go  to  York  two  or  three  year  ago,  calkerlatin' 
to  come  across  Polly  at  some  milliner's  in  the  Bowery, 
and  consult  her  about  a  new  bunnet.  But  she  wasn't  to 
be  found  in  any  of  those  places.  1  hear,  though,  she  has 
been  seen  a  year  or  two  back  in  places  a  good  deal  le.-s 
respectable.  I  don't  think  any  body  doubt-  \\hat  has 
become  of  her,  or  is  much  surprised  either.  Sin-  was 
always  a  sarcy  jade." 

u  Poor  Miss  Stein ! "  said  the  other,  with  a  si<:h  ; 
"  what  a  hard  time  she's  had  on't  with  such  a  family 
as  hern." 

"  Wai,  Angie  was   like    a    darter   to  her,"    resumed 

liriny.     "She  wau't  under  any  obligation*  in  that 

quarter,  and   they  say   Hannah    called    her    all    the   fools 

in    the    world  for  .-lavin'    her.-elf  OV8T    Mi.-'    Stein,    when 

Stein  hadn't  been  such  a  wretch  of  a  mi.-er  he  mi-_dit 
ha'  hired  -omehody  to  miss  hi-  wife." 

"  Don't  you  'marine  he  paid  her  any  thin;:  for  bein' 
«jH'  an'  on  there  all  winter? " 


THE    VOICE    OF    PUBLIC    OPINION.  303 

"  Paid  her?  Not  he.  Why,  he  wouldn't  let  'em  have 
a  fire  iii  his  wife's  chamber,  nor  a  lamp  to  burn  at 
night,  nor  any  kind  o'  nourishment  that  was  fit  for  a 
poor  sick  thing  like  her.  Angie  used  to  watch  there 
nights,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  when  she  could  hardly 
keep  herself  from  freezing  and  then  used  to  run  home  in 
the  mornin',  and  make  some  broth  or  cook  up  some  little 
thing  or  other  for  Mis'  Stein's  breakfast.  Stein  never 
even  thanked  her,  but  she  had  the  dyin'  woman's  blessin', 
if  that's  any  comfort,  and  the  good  word  o'  the  whole 
neighborhood.  As  I  heard  Miss  Beck  say  at  the  funeral, 
it  was  a  real  Christian  deed,  and  the  more  so  because 
the  Steins,  as  a  family,  had  been  no  friends  to  her  or 
hern.  But  Angie  Cousin  don't  stand  on  that ;  she  's  a 
real  forgiviu'  disposition  ;  amiable-like,  jest  as  her  father 
was  afore  her, — else,"  in  a  confidential  tone,  "she 
wouldn't  ha'  patronized  so  with  my  sister  Rycker  an' 
the  Becks  in  the  baby's  sickness.  I  must  say  they  used 
to  turn  the  cold  shoulder  on  her  if  any  body  did." 

"  Wai,  nobody  '11  ever  flout  at  Angie  Cousin  again, 
I  reckon,"  said  the  mother  of  six,  determinately.  "  I'll 
always  stand  up  for  her,  anyway.  I  only  wish  she  could 
get  up  her  sperits  a  little.  What  red  cheeks  she  used 
to  have,  and  a  lively  word  for  every  body,  an'  jaunty 
kind  o'  ways.  I  can  assure  you,  Miss  Rycker,  it  very 
often  brings  the  tears  into  my  eyes  to  think  what  a 
shadder  that  poor  gal  is  o'  what  the  Lord  meant  her  to 
be,  if  things  hadn't  turned  out  jest  as.  they  did." 

"Does   it?"  said  Miss  Briny.      "  Now,  it  don't  me. 


;H»4  a  A  i  \  i  i:  i>  n  LA  i:  y.v. 

I  s'pose  it  depends  on  one's  pint  o'  view.     You've  got  a 

hearty  family,  an'  are  n-ed  to  Bee  folk-  find  their  pleasure 
in  froliekin'  and  noi>c  ;  lint  p'rap.-,  if  yon  ffafi  loiicsome- 
like,  an'  had  a  good  deal  to  contend  with  one  way  an' 
another  (and  Mi>-  \\v\\\\  .-ii_rhed  ln-a\ily).  there  'd  be 
j-  imcthing  comfort  in'  in  her  'j-ave  looks  an'  kind  o'  syin- 
patlii/.in'  ways.  Not  hut  what  I'd  like  to  see  her  happy, 
an'  all  that."  continued  the  poor  >pin.-ter,  in  a  paivnthc.-i> 
of  disinterestedness  ;  "  but  as  long  as  tin TC  must  be  so 
much  sorrer  an'  misery  in  the  world,  those  on  us  that's 
seen  trouble  can't  depreciate  enough  them  that  knows 
how  to  ni-Tt  Ym  on  their  own  ground.  Angie's  face 
and  figur'  may,  as  you  say.  !•«•  -liadders  of  what  the  Lord 
meant  'em  fur,  but  they're  kind  o'  softened  shaddc  is  to  my 
thinkin',  like  tilings  you  sec  in  the  moonlight;  sorrer  and 
.'in'  have  warred  a;jainM  the  lle.-Ii,  hut  thev've 
made  on  ln-r  a  mini-term'  spirit,  —  an'  that  last  's  a 
blessin'  to  humanity,  and  no  disappintment  to  the  Lord, 
I  ii  ckon." 

A  mini-ti'i-iii'j  .-pirit  !  That  then  was  the  ealliuj  to 
whieh  Angie  was  called,  and  in  its  fnltilment,  so  far  as 
she  was  faithful,  she  had  already  acquired  a  new  pop 
ularity.  Not  that  emergencies,  like  those  above  i . 
to,  were  frecpH-nt.  They  came  only  at  wide  interxaU: 
but  the  spirit  of  her  life  was  ne\ertheless  one  of  sym 
pathy,  and  unconsciously  made  it>.-lf  fell.  Tho.-e  who 
ha\  r  prohed  life  deeplv  at  one  point  know  better  what  lies 
beneath  the  surface  e\ci-y  where.  An.irie  had  heeii  social 
by  nature,  like  her  father,  but  experience  now  had  let 


THE    VOICE    OF   PUBLIC    OPINION.  305 

her  down  into  the  heart  of  things,  and  what  others  only 
knew  of,  she  could  feel.  So  henceforth  her  look,  her 
voice,  the  touch  of  her  helping  hand,  were  not  like  the 
look,  the  voice,  the  touch  of  the  uninitiated.  God  had 
poured  on  her  the  ordaining  oil,  and  henceforth  sorrow 
claimed  her  as  its  priest. 

It  was  long  before  she  knew  her  office  ;  longer  still 
before  she  gave  herself  to  its  fulfilment.  The  tear  of 
pity  was  the  first  softening  dew-drop  to  her  rebel  heart ; 
the  friendliness,  which  afterwards  flowed  from  the  same 
source  in  a  wider  stream,  evoked  gentle  emotions  that 
had  seemed  crushed  and  dead ;  kindness  directed  their 
growth  and  culture,  and  God's  love  at  last  revivified  the 
soul,  which,  buried  in  the  deep  grave  of  all  its  earthly 
hopes,  had  found  therein  a  well  of  water,  and  was 
springing  up  into  everlasting  life. 

Here  then  was  resurrection.  Not  of  hopes  gone  and 
dead,  not  of  happiness  blotted  out  forever,  not  of  ease, 
of  which  there  was  no  earthly  prospect,  but  of  the 
soul  to  its  higher  life. 

Even  now  she  cannot  always  make  duty  a  substi 
tute  for  joy,  patience  the  cure  of  pain,  or  the  peace 
of  God  a  rest  for  her  troubled  spirit.  There  is  the 
struggle,  the  battle,  and  often  the  defeat  for  her,  as  for 
all  who  fight  the  fight  of  faith. 

But  she  has  an  inheritance  among  the  faithful.     Her 

sunny    traits    came    of    the    paternal    blood ;    but    her 

mother  was   of  the  Puritan  stock,  —  men  and  women 

who,  with  faces  sternly  set  heavenward,  weathered  sea  and 

26* 


30G  //  '  '   v  '/'*' 

Morm.  She  has  lli«-ir  -tn-n.irili  «'i'  holy  ptirj...^' ;  ihfi 
is  fighting  un<K-r  th--  M;Mi-r'>  lianiu-r,  and  <MI  tlif  right 
.,;,!,.;  .!„.  has  taken  to  hanttf  the  \vl»oK-  armor  of 
Cod.  Hi-  '_n-a«-.-  will  be  Mitliririit  tor  h. T  ;  B|M  will 
win  the  victory. 


A     CLEW    AT    LAST.  307 


CHAPTER    XX. 

A    CLEW    AT    LAST. 

IT  was  just  five  years  since  the  night  of  the  ball  at 
Stein's,  —  eventful  years  in  the  fortunes  of  the  American 
republic,  including  successes  and  reverses  experienced  in 
more  than  one  foreign  war,  an  honorable  restoration 
of  peace,  and  the  establishment  of  national  prosperity 
on  a  surer  foundation  than  ever  before.  Years,  of 
little  more  than  ordinary  interest  to  the  people  of 
Stein's  Plains,  except  for  the  double  tragedy  which 
marked  the  commencement  of  the  period ;  since  when 
no  local  incident  had  occurred  of  any  comparable 
importance. 

The  war  was  discussed  in  the  village  grocery  and  the 
tavern  at  the  cross  roads,  with  that  mingling  of  shrewd 
ness  and  ignorance,  intelligence  and  bravado,  with 
which  public  news  is  usually  canvassed  in  these  schools 
of  American  oratory,  but  the  actual  knowledge  this 
rustic  community  had  of  its  facts,  or  their  sense  of  its 
nearness,  was  less  than  is  had  in  this  generation  in  cases 
of  East  Indian  or  Chinese  wars.  It  was  not  for  them 


//•'   /    -N    '!'!••  '>     II  1- '  -I  /.'  /'S. 

the  hand-to-hand  struggle  in  which  tlu-ir  grandfather- 
hinl  achic\ed  freedom,  or  the  life-and-death  grapple  to 
which  their  grandchildren  have  lately  .-prnng  in  her 
defence.  Fought  at  a  distance,  and  for  the  most  pan 
on  an  element  to  which  they  wen-  M  rangers,  tin-  chief 
interest  it  possessed  for  them  lay  in  the  alternations  of 
pride  and  mortification  with  which  they  hailed  "  our 
victories."  or  lamented  '•"»/•  defeat-."  Peace,  when  it 
Wftf  announced,  was  the  mere  insurance  of  rights  of 
which  they  had  never  dreamed  of  being  dispossessed, 
and  so  far  as  concerned  their  security,  both  of  person 
and  property, ^Jic  war  and  the  peace  alike  might  as  well 
ha\e  been  at  the  antipodes. 

These  five  eventful  years  in  the  national  history  then 
had  rolled  over  the  people  at  Stein's  Plain-,  leaving  no 
other  traces  than  a  few  more  lines  of  care  on  weather- 
beaieii  faces,  a  few  children  sprung  to  their  growth,  a 
t'ew  \\hitc  heads  hleachcd  whiter,  a  few  deaf  ears 
(Hannah  Rawle's  among  other.-)  ^rown  dealer,  here 
and  there  a  frc-h-sodded  mound  in  the  burying  ground, 
and  the  same  number  of  familiar  forms  missing  in  their 
homes. 

I  wonder  how  many  among  the  two  do/en  couples 
who  danced  five  years  ago  at  Stein's,  are  thinking  of  it 
to-night.  There  is  no  ball  thi<  year  to  remind  them 
of  jia-t  fe-ti\ities.  The  la-t  :.!tenipt,  two  years  ago, 
pn.\ed  a  failure:  perhaps  liecan-e  the  hard-working 
s,  really  slaved  to  death  at  last,  was  no  longer 
behind  the  scenes,  moving  secret  springs;  perhaps 


A     CLEW  AT   LAST.  309 

because  Stein,  who  was  really  getting  old  now,  had  lost 
his  energy  and  strength  of  purpose.  At  all  events,  the 
Christmas  balls  are  among  the  things  that  have  been. 

The  things  that  are  prove  too  engrossing  for  most  of  the 
dancers  of  five  years  ago  to  spend  their  time  and 
thoughts  to-night  in  looking  back  upon  the  past.  Some 
of  them  were  heads  of  families  even  then,  nearly  all 
have  by  this  time  become  thrifty  husbandmen  or  busy 
matrons,  and  amid  the  cares,  the  noise,  the  cheerful 
bustle  of  their  homes,  youthful  memories  or  sentimental 
regrets  find  little  scope  for  indulgence.  Who  can  pause 
to  meditate  upon  the  past  when  there  are  cattle  to  be 
foddered,  fowls  to  be  plucked  and  made  ready  for 
market,  barrels  of  apples  and  out-door  pumps  to  be 
protected  from  the  frost,  sausages  to  be  stuffed,  pork 
liver  to  be  fried  for  the  men's  supper,  bread  set  to  rise, 
cradles  to  be  rocked,  and  children  to  be  huddled  off  to 
bed.  But  in  those  homes  where  there  are  no  strong- 
voiced  men  coming  in  to  supper,  no  children  to  be  sung 
to  sleep,  no  work  to  be  done  after  dark,  there  is  stillness 
and  leisure  at  this  hour,  and  in  those  hearts,  which  the 
things  that  are  can  never  fill  the  things  that  have  been, 
are  now  uppermost.  Such  a  home  is  that  cottage  on 
the  lonely  cross-road  where  Angie  Cousin  still  lives 
with  the  Widows  Rawle. 

It  is  a  wild  night,  just  such  a  night  as  one  they  all 
remember  well.  The  wind  is  whistling  around  the 
house,  —  that  malicious  wind,  that  seems  longing  for  mis 
chief  always.  NOAV  it  sways  the  branches  of  an  old 


810  //-I  W  WPH    HEARTS. 

apple-tree,  which  arc  well  cni-ted  with  ice.  ami  Sweeping 
the  window  pane  with  them,  creates  a  temporary  hail 
storm  ;  then  it  snatches  a  loose  shingle  from  the  roof, 
and  twirls  it  round  and  round  in  a  mad  dance  on  the 
hou-eiop.  A  little  while  ago,  when  Angit;  replenished 
tin-  lire  with  damp  wood,  it  met  the  smoke  in  the  chim 
ney,  fought  a  battle  with  it,  and  dru\e  it  hack  in  a  cloud 
into  her  lace.  Twice  it  has  blown  the  house  door  open, 
compelling  her  to  bar  it  at  last,  and  revealing,  triumph 
antly,  at  the  same  time  the  great  drifts  of  snow  which 
it  has  heaped  up  against  that  side  of  the  house,  and 
\\  hidi  it  threatens  to  heap  up  higher,  for  the  snow  is 
falling  still. 

Each  of  the  old  women  has  her  straight-backed  chair, 
drawn  to  the  accustomed  side  of  the  fin  place.  Hannah, 
to  all  appearance,  very  little  changed,  sits  erect  a-  e\ei\ 
and  the  lines  of  her  lace  are  as  stern  and  uncompro 
mising.  Perhaps  the  season  of  the  year  and  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  night  have  conjured  up  her  spectral  thought. 
perhaps  not,  for  Hannah  is  too  matter-of-fact  and  prac 
tical  to  be  much  influenced  by  coincidences  or  anni\ 
ries.  At  all  events  they  can  he  only  dreams  of  the  j.a-t 
which  she  is  indulging,  for  though  her  attitude  puts  her 
beyond  suspicion,  her  deep  breathing  betrays  her,  and 
.-he  i>  indubitably  a-lecp.  Margery,  more  waited  and 
bent  than  ever,  cowers  down  in  her  corner,  li.-tcns 
tremblingly  to  the  storm,  glances  timorously  at  her 
.-i-ter-in-law  during  the  continuance  of  the  bla>ls,  and 
at  e\er\  lull  in  the  tciupe-t  suffers  her  eyes  to  rot  upon 


A    CLEW  AT    LAST.  311 

Angie  (who  has  drawn  a  low  chair  close  beside  her), 
with  that  pleading,  trusting  look,  which  dumb  animals 
bestow  on  their  protectors. 

It  is  so  instinctive  with  Angie  to  take  her  seat  on 
Margery's  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  on  wintry  nights 
like  this  to  draw  a  little  nearer  yet  to  Geordie's  mother, 
she  is  so  accustomed  to  feel  herself  the  object  of  that 
appealing  gaze,  and  has  understood  it  so  long  and  so 
well,  that  there  being  nothing  new  in  her  relations  to 
Margery,  and  Hannah  being  asleep,  she  is  as  much  lost 
and  abstracted  from  her  present  surroundings  as  if  quite 
unobserved  and  alone. 

She  has  been  knitting  by  the  fire-light,  the  only  light 
they  can  afford  throughout  the  long  winter  evenings  ;  but 
now  the  stocking  lies  idly  on  her  lap,  her  head  is  resting 
on  her  hand,  and  she  is  apparently  tracing  out  objects  in 
the  red-hot,  glimmering  coals,  not  building  castles  in  the 
air,  only  musing  on  the  ruins  of  those  demolished  five 
years  ago. 

And  the  fire-light  on  which  she  is  gazing  so  steadily 
is  reflected,  meanwhile,  on  her  face.  What  does  it  reveal 
there  ? 

Ah,  li  that  depends  wholly,"  as  Briny  Rycker  once 
said,  u  on  your  point  of  view."  Are  you  looking  for  the 
beauty  that  formerly  made  her  the  belle  of  Stein's 
Plains?  Then  you  may  look  in  vain.  Youth  is  beauti 
ful,  and  Angle's  first  flush  of  youth  is  past ;  health  is 
beautiful,  and  lately  Antic's  frame,  though  still  capable 
of  much  endurance,  had  shown  signs  of  languor  and 


.Tl-J  a  A  '    \  n  D    ///.   /  /:  /  >  . 

debility  :  happiness  is  beautiful,  and  Anuie  is  not  happy, 
—  patient  and  peaceful,  but  that  is  all.  An-ie'.-  beauty. 
too,  had  b«-.-:i  pivrmiin-ntly  of  that  order  which  is  en- 
d  by,  if  nut  dependent  on.  good  >pirit<,  arch  explo 
sions,  playful  ways.  Her  features  were  never  regular; 
there  was  nothing  mechanical  in  her  smile;  none  of  her 
-races  were  of  the  Statiu-Mjue  type.  Nature  made  her 
one  of  tho.-e  jcw.-U  which  has  intrinsic  lustre,  but  needs 
animation,  motion,  light  to  give  it  radiancr  ;  .-he  was  not 
a  pearl,  which  i-  lu-.-t  .-ct  off  against  a  dark  background. 
She  was  exactly  calculated  to  play  a  brilliant  part  in 
society;  she  would  nev- r  make  an  artist's  saint,  or  a 
model  nun.  She  i.-  cc  rtainly  out  of  her  element,  and 
Nature  has  a  right  to  be  di.-appnintrd  in  her,  if  not 
Heaven.  "What  a  pity  ! 

And  ibis,  then,  is  victory  !  (Yrlaiuly  :  why  not?  Tell 
me,  is  victory  beautiful?  Is  it  not  wounded,  stained, 
scarred,  just  in  proportion  a-  it  i>  hard  won  and  glori 
ous?  Does  it  not  come  with  tattered  banners,  and 
broken  ranks,  and  wear}'  >trp-.  as  token-  of  its  triumph? 
Who  sees  in  our  diM-imatrd  battalions,  or  on  the  face  of 
our  bloody  battle-li.-l.U.  th.-  cheering  .-iirns  of  coiMjue-st?  It 
is  known  only  by  its  I'm  its.  It  i-  felt,  not  ^-^\. 

I  have  shown  a  frw  of  tin-  \\ay-  in  which  Angle's  self- 
conquest  made  its.-lf  felt  in  her  little  >phciv  ;  but  look  at 
her,  as  she  -its  in  the  iirc-li'jht.  and  what  do  you  see? 
'•  V\  by,"  you  will  say,  "  only  a  pale,  sober-looking 
woman."  u  Pretty?"  "Xo;  I  should  never  have 
dreamed  of  her  being  pretty.  Neat,  to  be  sure ; 


A    CLEW  AT   LAST.  313 

but,  O,  how  plain  her  dress  is  !  How  old  she  is  getting, 
too  !  Don't  I  spy  a  few  gray  hairs  in  her  head,  or  is  that 
only  my  fancy  in  this  pale  light?  Dear  me,  can  that  be 
Angie  ?  Why,  I  don't  believe  I  should  have  known  her  ! " 

It  is  Angie,  and  the  plain  livery  she  wears  is  the 
badge  by  which  you  may  often  recognize  them  that  have 
overcome. 

How  calm  she  looks  !  Whatever  visions  she  sees  in  the 
embers  now,  they  have  no  power  to  disturb  her  peace  ; 
her  face  wears  a  sad  expression,  but  her  attitude  is  full 
of  repose.  She  is  not  so  calm  as  she  seems,  however. 
This  composed  attitude  has  become  habitual  with  her ; 
and  the  visions,  painful  as  they  may  be,  are  too  familiar 
to  startle  her  with  their  presence  ;  but  her  nerves  are  far 
from  sound,  for  a  stamping  of  feet  outside  the  door,  and 
a  hand  laid  on  the  latch,  cause  her  to  give  a  convulsive 
start,  not  because  the  step  and  touch  are  strange,  for, 
though  unexpected,  she  knows  them  well ;  but,  perhaps, 
because  the  coming  visitor  is  painfully  associated  with 
the  subject  of  her  meditation  ;  possibly  because  he  is 
unwelcome  to  her  at  all  times,  or  perchance  merely  on 
account  of  the  sudden  turn  given  to  her  thoughts.  But 
the  shock  is  for  an  instant  only  ;  then  she  rises  compos 
edly  to  take  down  the  bar  and  admit  the  visitor. 

Margery's  childish  look  follows  her  to  the  door. 
"What's  that?"  cries  Hannah,  whose  dull  ears  have 
echoed  just  enough  sound  to  cause  her  to  awaken  from 
her  nap,  with  a  more  perceptible  start  than  Angle's. 
"  My  brother  Dick,  I  vum  ! "  as  Van  Hausen  came  in, 
27 


"1  i  a  A  I' \TL-/>    HEARTS. 

powdered   with   snow.      ••  Wai.  it '  e\  vr  there  is  one  night 
in  the  year  worse  than  another,  ii'-  -niv  to  hriii^'  you." 
\    vie  pla«vd  a  .-hair  in  front  of  the  fire  for  him. 

"'Do,  jMarjvry  r  Mo.  Hannah?"  he  mum-red,  abbrc- 
viatintLr  the  customary  salutation  of  society  to  the  la-t 
degree,  to  >ave  word.-,  and.  as.  usual,  taking  no  notice 
whatever  of  AiiLrie.  who,  accustomed  to  he  thus  over 
looked  by  him,  resumed  her  low  chair  -with  the  meekness 
of  one  who  is  content  to  be  despised. 

Then  there  was  a  prolonged  silence  ;  but  this  was 
nothing  strange.  Hannah  being  deaf,  and  Margery  what 
she  was,  —  poor  soul !  —  and  Angie  a  creature  wholly 
ignored,  Van  Hausen's  conversation  with  them  usually 
consisted  of  a  few  commonplaces,  uttered  at  intervals, 
and  the  long  pauses  between  were  neither  felt  to  be  op 
pressive  nor  ominous.  They  were  merely  characteristic 
of  occasions  wherein  social  intercourse  was  well  under 
stood  to  be  supplementary  to  the  true  object  of  the 
visit,  which  usually  revealed  itself  after  Dick  was  gone 
in  the  form  of  a  basket  of  groceries  found  on  the  door 
steps,  a  sparerib  of  pork  left  hanging  in  the  shed,  or 
some  such  substantial  token  of  the  visitor'.-  presence. 
To-ni.L'ht.  ChriMmas  being  so  near,  a  fat  turkey,  or  the 
materials  for  a  plum-pudding,  might  reasonably  be  antici 
pated  as  an  afterpiece. 

But  any  such  anticipation  was  destined  to  be  disap 
pointed.  The  object  of  Van  Hausen's  present  visit  was 
no  less  weighty,  but  its  delivery  must  precede,  not  follow, 
his  departure,  and  niu-t  l.e  made  in  person. 


A     CLEW  AT   LAST.  315 

He  was  awkward  at  the  undertaking.  Though  evi-' 
dently  oppressed  with  the  burden  which  he  had  brought 
so  far  through  the  storm,  his  efforts  to  relieve  himself  of 
it  were  for  some  time  ineffectual.  His  conversation  was 
more  terse  and  abstracted  than  usual.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  on  a  single  spot  in  the  rag-carpet,  excepting  as  he 
now  and  then  turned  them  suddenly  upon  Hannah,  he 
seemed  about  to  give  utterance  to  what  was  uppermost 
in  his  mind,  then  checked  himself  abruptly.  The  truth 
was,  he  had  something  of  more  than  ordinary  interest  to 
communicate,  but  dreaded  its  effect  on  the  old  woman. 
At  last,  as  if  all  the  force  gained  by  his  previous  efforts 
had  concentrated  itself  for  a  final  blast,  he  leaned  for 
ward,  put  his  mouth  to  one  of  her  deaf  ears,  and  bawled 
out,  without  preface  or  preamble,  u  We've  got  a  clew  to 
the  murder ! " 

"  You  hain't  ?  "  cried  Hannah,  jumping  as  if  a  shot  had 
issued  from  Van  Hausen's  mouth  and  pierced  her  brain. 
It  was  a  blasting  shot  indeed.  It  had  struck  two  poor 
hearts  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  seemed 
to  let  out  the  life-blood.  Margery's  hand  clutched  An- 
gie's  gown  as  with  a  death  clutch  ;  but  these  two  victims 
were  otherwise  still,  and  attracted  no  attention. 

"  We  have,  though,"  responded  Van  Hausen,  in  a  tone 
of  assurance,  almost  of  triumph. 

"  It's  come  out  then  !  The  Lord  be  praised  !  I  shall 
see  my  old  man  avenged  afore  I  die  !  How  did  it  come 
to  light?  Was  it  one  or  two?"  All  this  Hannah 
poured  out  at  a  breath. 


n/tA  / 

|  )H,I    KIIM\\  bottfod    I  >irk.  \\  ith    mi    riii|  ' 

1"       I'lirrU       il  H|<:i  t  iriHV      :m<l       allay      r  \  fit  rll  n"ll . 
-      \\  ,  '\  ,         -I     :i     rh'U    ;      llinl'-i    all." 
I  [01    '     \vh.Mv?    uliat    i-,   ii 

\\  .!.  ,:'    .1  ni:iii  (l..\\n  in  Yoik.     ||«'*  tiinn-i]  state's 

r\  i.l.-n.  «•.   I    lii-MT.      Tli.  •  Y   I-  t*k<  MIIOIIV 

In   in..|i..\\.   Mini    I'll!    "'.ill'    «I"\\M    tlirrr    lu   srr   aliolll    il." 

(   .nTi    1,,-ar  :       \\  lial    .1...  I  "    «-ri,.«|    Hannah, 

\\illi     initali-Mi;    I'm-    hirk.    in     iitlt-riii;.'     M     |»lir;iM-    ul'any 

l«  ir'ili.  \\.i-  a|il    !•«    ninlllc    lii-  \uirc  ami    |O\MT  il  a  |»il<-li, 

M!  i>!    In  r  inlinnilv.      4k  ('mur  In  \       it  ,  ami  n  II 

inr  \\  hat 

\       [l      -ni.!i..\\    li.tltTc.l  tn  In  r  li-rt   in  nlirilii-iii-i-  ti»  llii« 
Miiiim.m^       llri-    rli  ar    folOi    ITM     "t'h-n     llaiiu.il.' 
Iriiinjii-t.     N\  liat  an  nllii'i-  I'm-  IMT  l«>  :i«-l   a  |  inl. -rptvlrr  in»\\  ? 
llul   llii-n-   v  •  a|.«'.       llannair  -  rail  \\a-  ini|.n-ali\r. 

M.ii    ,  i  \    In-lit    li.-r    l»a«-k.  |III\\«'\IT.  kr.  ping    linn 
on    In-r    gOWBi       An    h      .lan.l     QO(     r.  -iiinii  -I  rat.-    \\ilh    tin- 
InMlil-:  M  MM-     \v:is    rnin|»i-ll«;«l     !«•     nn\\rni«'li 

tin-   uilliiTril   liaml.   lia^liK    :i'nl    l.\    fefOSi      'I'lii-  liaml  lluis 

nnl.» I    li-nin    il-    -lr«in.-|i,.li|     i-la-|>i-ii    il-    mat.'    \\itli    an 

r\|.r.'-  -I. HI    M I'    i|r-|.;iir.   \\  Ililc    ;ill\|.  PollOU  •••!      \ 

.1        it      implOl  [fig     luT     ll«'|      (,.     lra;'llr      ll.T-rH'    \\  itll     li 

tra\, 

l«iit    -h.     nin-i    |,|a\    IHT   part .  IMMX  r\  «T   hanl;    must  ni- 
IH.II    tMillilullv  to    Hannah    r\ .  rv  \\  ..nl  < .)'   Van    Han 
ih<'ii".li  t\ii\    ui.nl  \\crra  thunderbolt.        I-'oi-lnnal.  ! 
IHT    lln-    \\.-i  -t    Ihnv    irffcl    1,1    i,  II    |ra|    f,,l,l    alrca.l\.       I; 
onl\    i'  tO    •  \jilain   I"   I  I.-nm.-ill.    ulii.-li 


A    CLEW  AT   LAST.  317 

plished  with  some  difficulty  on  account  of  her  ignorance 
of  legal  forms,  that  a  certain  man,  who  had  been  some 
time  since  committed  to  prison  for  crimes  of  the  lesser 
magnitude,  was  about  to  be  employed  as  testimony  in  the 
case  of  one  Bullet  and  his  gang,  noted  pirates,  recently 
captured  at  sea,  and  now  awaiting  trial  in  New  York. 
The  man  who  proposed  to  turn  state's  evidence  had  con 
fessed  himself  an  accomplice  in  many  crimes,  both  by  sea 
and  land.  As  he  had.  among  other  confessions,  dropped 
a  hint  to  his  jailer  of  having  five  years  before  been  en 
gaged  in  some  atrocious  ailuir  in  New  Jersey,  the  jailer, 
remembering  the  reward  offered  for  the  discovery  of  Baul- 
tie  Rawle's  murderers,  lost  no  time  in  communicating 
with  the  legal  authorities,  and  also  with  Van  Ilausen, 
who  was  known  to  be  interested  in  the  ferreting  out  of 
the  crime  and  its  agents.  The  expectation  of  obtaining 
evidence  in  the  Rawle  affair  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  wit 
ness,  whose  eagerness  for  the  conviction  of  Bullet  had 
led  him  to  make  revelations  of  the  past,  would,  when  fur 
nishing  his  testimony  in  the  one  case,  be  induced,  either 
bv  the  promise  of  indulgences,  or  for  the  sake  of  easing 
his  conscience,  to  make  a  clean  breast  regarding  his  com 
plicity  in  other  crimes. 

To  aid  in  this  purpose,  it  was  deemed  desirable  that 
those  most  nearly  concerned,  and  who  might,  by  their 
questioning  or  hints,  deduce  the  necessary  proofs,  shouM 
be  present  at  his  examination.  This  had  been  postponed, 
for  some  reason  unknown  to  Van  Hauseii,  to  the  last 
possible  moment,  but  the  court  for  the  trial  of  Bullet  be- 
27* 


.'"51. S  .//  /  /    \   /  /    n    Hi:  1  UTS. 

ing  already  in  Pesskm,  it  could  l>e  no  longer  delayed. 
Van  Ilau-en,  who  had  been  made  acquainted  with  the-e 
faci<  liy  the  detective  some  day?*  piv\  iou.-ly.  had  hitherto 
forborne  imparting  tlirin  to  Hannah,  in  order  to  save  her 
uimecessary  suspenB^' but  as  In-  had  been  not  ilied  to  be 
present  the  next  morning  at  an  examination  of  tlie  man 
preparatory  t"  Iiis  appearing  in  open  court,  be  did  not 
venture  to  withhold  from  her  any  lunger  a  secret  in 
which  she  was  the  party  most  iniere-ied. 

The  above  information,  for  her  benefit,  was  elicited, 
not  in  any  connected  form,  but  in  detached  phrases,  ut 
tered  in  successive  jerks  by  Van  IIau»-n.  and  communi 
cated  by  Angie  as  by  an  echo  ;  —  a  thing  not  supposed  by 
its  auditor-  to  he;ir,  think,  or  understand  ;  an  unconscious 
reporter  merely.  Only  Margery  wondered  at  An-_rie. 
She,  poor  creature,  with  strained  eyes  and  imploring 
hands,  seemed  to  protest  with  her  against  every  word  of 
which  >he  suffered  herself  to  be  the  medium.  The  \ery 
echoes  may  betray,  and  with  her  last  bulwark  of  strength 
seemingly  in  league  against  her,  poor  Margery  felt  her 
self  forsaken  and  lo$t.  But  Angle's  roice,  like  Nature's, 
MM  simply  obedient  to  law.  What  the  obedience  cost 
her  no  one  but  lu-rself  ever  knew. 

There  wa-  Mum-thing  awful  in  the  calmness  with 
which,  alter  the  first  shock  of  surprise.  Hannah  listened 
to  Van  Hausen's  report,  and  treasured  up  its  details.  It 

^••'-  tl"1  calmness  of  triumph,  the  confidence  of  \i 

A-  her  mind  took  in  and  dig.-Med  One  item  after  another 
of  the  intelligence  Dick  had  brought,  the  feverish  irrita- 


A    CLEW  AT  LAST.  319 

bility  she  had  manifested  at  first  settled  into  the  compo 
sure  of  a  resolved  w,ill.  She  drew  herself  to  the  edge  of 
her  chair  like  one  ready  for  action,  braced  up  her  tall 
form,  clinched  her  right  fist,  and,  looking  coming  events  as 
it  were  in  the  face,  felt  herself  more  than  ever  her  dead 
husband's  champion.  No  judge  in  all  the  land  could  be 
half  so  stern,  so  terrible,  so  pitiless,  as  this  old  woman 
who  had  waited  all  these  years  for  vengeance,  and  not 
waited,  as  she  now  believed,  in  vain.  Margery  cowered 
before  her.  Angie  shuddered  as  she  saw  her  thus  gird 
herself  for  the  onset. 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  York  in  the  mornin',  Dick?"  was 
Hannah's  deliberate  query,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  report. 
He  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"What  time?" 

"  I  shall  start  afore  sunrise,"  was  his  answer,  trans 
mitted  through  Angie. 

"  I  wanted  to  know,  'cause  I'm  goin'  with  you,"  said 
Hannah,  coolly. 

u  You?  what  fur?  where  to ?  "  asked  Dick,  in  surprise. 

"  To  the  jail ;  to  the  court  where  the  trial  is,  to  see  the 
whole  thing  with  my  own  eyes.  Who's  a  better  right, 
I'd  like  to  know?" 

Dick  looked  dumbfounded.  He  would  never  have  con 
fided  the  matter  to  Hannah  if  he  had  thought  of  this  as 
the  consequence.  He  expostulated ;  the  severity  of  the 
weather,  the  open  pung  in  which  he  should  be  obliged  to 
travel,  the  unsuitableness  of  such  an  expedition  for  women 
the  trial  to  her  feelings,  every  thing  he  could  suggest 


320  HA  r.\  /  /  :i>    in  AKTS. 

by  way  of  argument  was  brought  forward  in  oppo-i- 
tion;  but  it  was  of  no  use,  Hannah  w*|  linn.  Go  she 
\\onld, — go  before  ,  nnri.-e.  in  her  l»n>llirr'>  pun;:  and  in 
spite  of  tin-  weather,  and  >he  rlo.-rd  tin-  catalogue  of  her 
plans  with  the  words,  '•  An^ic  will  ;:«»  with  in,-." 

An«rif  liad  -looped  to  pick  up  a  brand  from  tin-  hearth, 
which  .-he  Irt  fall  at  this.  A  look  of  a-_rony  overspread 
her  face,  and  she  cried  out.  like  one  in  terror,  "Not 
me?  O,  no  !  '  At  the  -anie  moment  Marjvrv  >tretehed 
out  a  hand  in  a  frantic  manner  and  clutched  once  more 
at  her  gown.  Angie,  to  hide  the  union,  sulK-ivd  her>elt 
to  be  drawn  to  Margery's  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  be 
neath  the  folds  of  lu-r  dre>-  patted  the  withered  hand  in 
a  soothing,  caressing  manner,  as  one  pats  a  child.  Mar 
gery  looked  com  fort  i-d. 

But  Hannah  persisted.  "  You  wouldn't  have  me  go 
alone,  child,  amonir  all  those  men.  I>e>ides.  I  can't  hear 
a  word  without  you.  It  won't  hurt  yoini'_r  folk-.  I  irness, 
if  an  old  woman  like  me  can  risk  it,  though  it  is  bad 
business  we're  goin'  on,  an'  winter  went  her  inter  the  bar 
gain." 

Margery  quivered  like  an  a-pen  leaf.  Annie,  still 
patt.inir  the  hand,  seemed  to  say,  "There  !  there  !  —  hush  ! 
hu.-h  !  —  we  must  meet  if*M^  well  u  we  can." 

••Wai,  Man."  -••reamed  Dick,  who,  paying  no  atten 
tion  to  the  que-tion  court-mint:  An;.rir.  —  taking  a  rude 
pleasure.  ])erhiips.  in  in!«'rruptint:  it.  —  had  risen  to  go. 
"You've  got  to  be  ready  'fore  sunri-e.  that's  all;  'tain't 
my  fault  if  yon  ketch  yer  death,"  he  grunted,  as  he 
went  out. 


A     CLEW    AT    LAST.  321 

There  was  not  much  sleep  in  the  cross-road  cottage 
that  night.  Hannah's  eyes  were  strained  wide  open ; 
and  though  she  went  to  bed  first,  resolved,  among  other 
things,  to  fortify  herself  with  a  good  night's  rest,  the 
visions  which  haunted  her  imagination  were  not  of  the 
sedative  order,  and  she  lay  still,  but  wakeful,  eager, 
longing  for  the  dawn,  to  her  so  full  of  promise.  Mar 
gery  crept  into  bed  beside  her,  as  the  lamb  might  do 
which  has  been  taught  to  lie  down  by  the  sleeping  lion, 
but  has  seen  symptoms  of  its  companion's  ferocity,  and 
is  in  dread  lest  the  enemy  may  wake  and  pounce  upon 
it.  Especially  did  this  nightmare  of  terror  seize  upon 
her  when,  through  the  darkness,  she  watched  the  com 
panion  of  her  pillow  creep  out  of  bed,  steal  to  the  bureau, 
feel  in  the  corner  of  the  upper  drawer,  to  make  sure  that 
the  mitten  —  George's  mitten,  that  precious  bit  of  proof — 
was  safe,  and  satisfying  herself  of  the  fact,  steal  back  to 
bed.  Could  George's  mother  sleep  that  night?  Her 
visions  were  not  of  the  stuff  that  dr.eams  are  made  of, 
though  nightmares  are  sometimes. 

Angie  would  gladly  have  sat  up  until  morning.  She 
had  to  make  ready  for  an  early  breakfast,  bring  out  her 
own  and  Hannah's  best,  warm  clothes  for  the  journey, 
and  hunt  up  bricks  to  heat  in  the  ashes  over  night,  to  put 
into  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh  as  a  protection  against 
frozen  feet.  She  would  gladly  have  made  a  pretence  of 
business  enough  to  occupy  her  until  daylight,  if  it  were 
only  to  keep  near  Margery,  and,  now  and  then,  on  every 
trifling  pretext,  creep  into  the  bed-room  and  secretly  pat 


MM  HAUXTED    Hi    I /.  /  L 

the  hand  tliat  was  seeking  lin-s  alwavs.  "But  tlic  mo 
ment  t'vrry  thini:  al>M>lnh-ly  niMv»ary  was  done.  Hannah 
onlnvd  AiiLfio  oil' to  lu-il,  wliere  she  lay  (juakin-.  >hi\t-r- 
ing,  moaning,  —  not  with  the  cold,  thmi.irh  lu-r  window- 
panes  were  contnl  with  ice,  her  breath  frozen  on  tin  >IK  « t. 
the  wind  coming  in  at  many  a  crack,  —  but  licc.uise  her 
trnrs,  her  prayers,  the  faith  which  had  supported  her 
through  many  a  strait,  —  nothing  could  save  her  now 
from  a  mortal  dread  of  the  morrow. 


ON  THE  TRACK  OF  CRIME,         323 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

ON    THE    TRACK    OF    CRIME. 

THE  morning  sun  at  Stein's  Plains  came  up  like  a 
great  red  ball  rising  from  a  bed  of  snow.  The  storm 
was  past,  the  wind  lulled,  but  the  cold  was  intense,  the 
earth  seemed  shrinking  and  crouching  under  its  snowy 
coverlet,  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  farm-houses  were 
sealed  up  with  strips  of  white  cement ;  traces  of  man's 
ownership,  his  industry,  his  prerogative,  —  all  had  been 
obliterated  in  a  night.  Winter  had  taken  possession,  and 
no  one  had  yet  risen  to  dispute  her  claim. 

But  she  was  about  to  be  defied.  The  challenge  was 
already  coming  down  the  cross-road  ;  it  was  heralded  by 
the  jingling  of  bells  ;  it  appeared  over  the  crest  of  a  little 
hill,  in  the  form  of  a  blue  pung,  drawn  by  a  white  horse, 
and  containing  three  individuals.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
"great  red  eye  of  heaven"  had  started  up  in  surprise 
to  stare  at  this  plebeian  object,  the  only  moving  thing  for 
miles  around,  and  now  coming  on  at  a  round  trot,  break 
ing  at  every  step  the  chaste  uniformity  with  which  Nature 
had  decked  herself*  It  ought  to  have  been  Youth  on  a 


324  a  A  r.v  •/•/;  />  HLA  A  /  - 

voyage  of  di.-co\ery,  Iimocence  seeking  adventure.  Hope 
elated  at  the  prospect,  who  were  thus  out  as  pioneers, 
breaking  tin-  lir-i  track  on  that  pun-,  untrodden  patlnvay. 
Could  it  l)i'  that  it  was  Kxperience.  lve\ firjv,  and  Fear, 
all  on  tin-  track  of  crime? 

It  was  no  other  than  tin-si-  la-t,  tor  Van  1  Ian-e:i,  Hannah 
Raw  le,  and  Angle  were-  already  on  their  wav  to  New  York. 

They  travelled  in  -Hence.  It  was  cold  enough  to 
stiffen  their  jaws;  had  they  l>een  a  pleasure-party  they 
would  not  have  thawed  into  merriment  BQ  early  ;  as  it 
was,  they  preserved  a  silemv  a-  stern  a<  that  of  the  .-till 
'December  morning  whieh  they  wen-  -o  boldly  confront 
ing.  Hannah,  dressed  in  a  si-ant  cloak  of  black  camlet, 
a  fur  cape  of  yellowish  sable  (that  ugly,  old-fashioned 
sable  which  our  grandmothers  sported  tittv  vears  ago), 
and  a  pumpkin  hood  of  huge  dimensions.  \\a-,  by  her 
height,  her  erect  posture,  and  her  determined  air,  the 
most  conspicuous  figure  in  the  pung.  Probably  she  felt 
the  cold,  the  hard  seat,  the  absence  of  any  thing  to  lean 
against  less  than  cither  of  her  fellow-travellers.  Angie. 
clad  in  the  close-fitting  mandarin,  and  the  little  pink  hood 
(faded  pink  it  was  now),  looked  like  a  child  beside  her 
Amazonian  companion.  She  slmend  perceptibly;  her 
face  wore  the  expression  of  one  who  i-  drair'jvd  forward 
against  her  will;  she  had  withdrawn  inst  inct  i\  ely  from 
Hannah's  vicinity  to  the  extremity  of  the  plank  which 
constituted  the  back  seat  of  the  punir.  and.  leaning  over 
the  side  of  the  vehicle,  watched  the  runner  cut  its  track 
in  the  snow  with  a-^  intense  n  ira/e  as  if  thev  were 


ON  THE  TRACK  OF  CRIME.         325 

voyaging  on  the  surface  of  a  frozen  sea,  in  which  they 
might  at  any  moment  sink. 

Van  Hausen  had  lately  got  a  stoop  in  the  shoulders, 
which  was  more  than  ever  perceptible  as  he  sat  leaning 
over  the  reins  in  a  brooding  attitude,  his  head  crowned 
with  a  seal-skin  cap,  and  sunk  as  far  as  the  ears  within 
the  upright  collar  of  a  green  and  black  plaid  cloak, 
fastened  at  the  throat  with  a  great  steel  hook  and  chain. 
Once  in  a  while  he  roused  himself,  and  half  turned  round 
to  draw  up  a  well-worn  buffalo-robe,  apparently  to  save 
it  from  dragging  in  the  snow,  in  reality  to  tuck  it  more 
effectually  around  the  feet  of  his  female  passengers.  This 
act,  repeated  at  intervals,  and  now  and  then  a  slapping 
of  the  reins,  and  a  "  go  'long ! "  to  his  horse,  were  the 
only  exceptions  to  his  otherwise  stoical  deportment. 

They  journeyed  for  two  hours  without  meeting  or 
passing  any  one  on  the  road,  though  as  they  advanced 
there  were  increasing  signs  of  animation  in  the  farm 
houses  and  barnyards,  showing  that  the  population  was 
astir.  The  snow  had  been  drifted  in  some  places  by  the 
last  night's  wind  ;  but  on  the  whole  the  roads  were  prac 
ticable,  and  travelling  facilitated  rather  than  impeded  by 
the  storm ;  so  that,  although  they  had  the  disadvantage 
of  being  the  first  to  break  track,  our  party  made  good 
speed.  As  they  approached  the  neighborhood  of.  the 
city,  and  gained  roads  well  trodden  by  the  passage  of 
other  sleighs,  they  progressed  even  more  rapidly,  and  it 
was  not  yet  nine  o'clock  when  they  reached  the  ferry  at 
Hoboken.  The  ferry-boats  then  were  not  the  floating 
28 


320  iiii    \  i  t  LI   n KA  UTS. 

castles  which  serve  the  purpose  in  our  day.     So  small 

and  inconvenient  in  comparison  was  that  in  which  our 
travellers  crossed,  that  it  barely  furnished  accommodation 
for  Van  Hauscn's  puug,  ami  two  other  clumsy  vehicles 
which  crossed  on  the  ,-amc  trip.  A  covered  pas.-age. 
nn warmed,  and  open  at  hotli  extrcmitie.-.  otlered  the  only 
CtlOD  lor  loot  passengers.  This  wa>  better,  perhaps, 
than  utter  expo-lire  to  the  blast  that  .-wept  acros-  the 
l»ay:  luit  Hannah  did  not  think  it  any  inducement,  as 
.-he  -aid.  for  ••  hundlin'  out  an'  in  agin;"  so  she  and 
kept  their  seats,  and  got  chilled  to  the  last  de-ree 
short  of  freezing,  while  Van  llanscn  walked  up  and  down 
in  a  contracted  space,  and  thra.-hed  hi-  arms  across  his 
chest,  by  way  of  keeping  up  the  circulation. 

Arrived  at  New  York,  Van  Ilau.-cn.  without  consult 
ing  his  companions,  made  at  once  for  their  dc-tiuation, 
the  jail.  Their  course  lay  through  the  chief  business 
thoroughfares  of  the  city,  which,  though  in-ignilicant  in 
compari-on  with  its  present  size,  was  a  busy,  thriving 
metropolis,  more  great  and  imposiflg,  no  doubt,  in  the 
eyes  of  the  rustic  then  than  the  New  York  of  the  present 
day  is  to  the  dweller  in  the  most  remote  corner  which 
New  Jersey  now  afford-. 

Angie  shrank  from  the  city  crowd,  tha:  i>   <  I 

humanity,  —  the  world.  The  neighborhood  of  SteinV 
Plains  constituted  the  immediate  orbit  of  her  life;  but 
there  was  an  out.-ide  world  beyond  that  ;  a  wider  >jiherc, 
a  vaster  public,  defined  to  ring  with  the  history  of  a 
great  crime  come  to  light.  And  this  was  that  world. 


ON    THE    TRACK    OF   CRIME.  327 

These  faces,  upturned  in  curiosity  as  she  passed,  were 
already  questioning  the  inmates  of  the  blue  pung  as  to 
their  errand  hither  ;  these  eager  ears  were  awaiting  the 
startling  revelations  of  to-day ;  these  tongues  seemed 
freshly  sharpened  for  the  universal  hiss ;  this  sea  of 
human  faces  was  a  sea  just  about  to  be  lashed  into  fury 
by  the  tempest ;  Angie  felt  herself  launched  upon  it,  and 
shuddered. 

Not  so  with  Hannah.  She  was  in  sympathy  with  the 
coming  storm.  Law,  justice,  the  people's  voice,  —  all 
were  on  her  side  ;  she  could  ride  on  the  crest  of  the 
billow  ;  she  had  nothing  to  fear.  So  she  met  the  stare 
of  the  city  throng  (and  they  did  stare  perhaps,  as  city 
folks  often  do  at  a  country  equipa'g e)  with  the  confidence 
of  an  equal  if  not  a  master  spirit.  Destiny  was  befriend 
ing  Hannah  ;  so  she  and  the  world  were  on  good  terms. 

But  though  Hannah's  spirit  was  equal  to  the  present 
emergency,  the  flesh  quivered  under  it.  If  Angie  shook 
with  dread,  Hannah  shook  no  less  with  the  cold.  Young 
blood  can  defy  the  weather,  even  when  the  heart  is  faint, 
but  the  current  runs  thin  and  slow  in  old  veins,  and  cour 
age  cannot  keep  a  chill  out  of  aged  bones.  If  Hannah 
sat  upright  now  it  was  partly  because  she  was  benumbed. 
The  expression  of  her  face  might  well  be  rigid,  for  her 
features  were  stiffened,  her  lips  compressed  and  blue  ;  her 
whole  frame  vibrated  with  an  unconscious  shiver  ;  other 
wise,  she  was  almost  paralyzed.  The  noises  of  the  street, 
too,  reached  her  half-deafened  ears  in  an  indistinct  rattle, 
which  so  bewildered  her  brain  that  by  the  time  the  trav- 


328  HAUNTED    HEAL 

oilers  reached  the  prison  gates  she  had  ceased  to  take 
notice  of  surrounding  objects.  and  her  Mare  was  that  of 
stupefaction.  After  all,  Anjie.  m-mbling  ;ii<.u;jli  she  was, 
li.id  to  support  the  old  woman  a-  .-in-  tottered  from  the 
vehicle,  and  followed  Van  IIau.»en  through  tin-  entrance 
gate  and  up  tin-  Mep-  leading  to  an  inm-barred  door,  at 
which  he  had  already  knocked  loudly.  The  granite  sur 
face  of  the  building,  the  grated  window-frames  from 
which  icicles  hung  in  pendants;  the  hollow  reverberation 
of  Van  Iluuseii's  knock  as  it  went  echoing  through  the 
stone  corridors,  all  the  sights  and  sounds  which  serve 
to  make  up  the  grim  uniformity  of  a  prison,  acted  upon 
Angle's  senses  with  scarcely  less  of  chill  and  horror  than 
if  she  were  a  criminal%nder  sentence  for  life.  This  was 
the  spot  to  which  human  society  banished  its  lost  and  de 
graded  members;  it  was  one  of  the  instruments  of  its 
retaliation  against  crime  :  it  \\a-  the  giant  coadjutor  of 
Angie's  companions  in  the  business  on  which  they  had 
come.  It  almost  annihilated  poor  Angle  with  its  voice 
and  frown. 

One  of  the  jailer's  assistants  opened  the  door  ;  he  was 
a  -t ranger  to  Van  Hausen,  but  the  old  carpenter,  having 
bluntly  announced  the  object  of  his  \i-it.  tin-  party  were 
conducted  through  a  stone  passage-way,  and  thence  into 
a  little  ante-room,  a  sort  of  lounging-place  for  turnkeys 
and  constables,  as  might  be  jud-jed  from  the  attitude  of 
an  individual  of  the  latter  cla-<.  who  wa-  leaning  idly 
against  the  solitary  window  which  overlook.  .1  th-  j.v 
yard.  It  WM-J  a  plastered  room,  hare,  unfurnished,  and 


ON  THE  TRACK  OF  CRIME.         329 

much  defaced  by  tobacco  juice  and  other  defilements. 
There  was  no  fireplace,  and  the  only  seat  which  the  room 
afforded  was  a  wooden  bench,  on  which  Hannah  suffered 
herself  to  be  placed,  Angie  standing  beside  her,  while 
Van  Hausen  unclasped  the  fastening  of  his  cloak,  raised 
his  seal-skin  cap  from  his  forehead,  set  his  whip  up 
against  the  wall,  and  then  looked  about  him. 

"  That  you,  Mr.  Van  Hausen?  Wai,  how  are  you  to 
day,  old  feller?"  said  the  constable,  who  had  been 
stationed  at  the  window,  but  who,  now  that  Dick  had 
divested  himself  of  his  wrappings,  came  forward  and 
claimed  acquaintance,  offering  his  hand,  too,  in  quite  a 
patronizing  way. 

This  man  was  one  of  the  city  detectives  employed  five 
years  ago  for  the  discovery  of  Baultie  Rawle's  murderer, 
and  as  near  an  approach  to  a  police  officer  as  this  or  any 
other  municipality  could  boast  fifty  years  ago.  Van 
Hausen  recognized  him,  and  shook  hands  cordially 
enough,  but  scarcely  bestowing  a  look  on  his  old  ac 
quaintance.  His  eye  was  wanderirfg  round  the  room. 

u  Pooty  cold  reception  yer  give  folks  here  !*"  was  the 
result  of  his  survey. 

'     The  constable  laughed  heartily  at  this  good  joke,  as  it 
seemed  to  him. 

"  People  mustn't  calkerlate  on  getting  any  great  comfort 
or  happiness  in  these  quarters,"  he  answered  jocosely. 

"Hain't  yer  got  a  fire  anywhere  about  here?"  per 
sisted  Dick,  gruffly. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  hain't.     We  have  to  depend  on  our 
28* 


HA  UN  TED    SEAR  7 

good  -j.irii-  t«.  keep  us  warm  here.  Won't  you  have  a 
drop  inside?  You  mu-t  be  een-a-most  friz  with  your 
l-i!i-_r  ride." 

••  Mv  women  folks  is,  I  reckon,"  said  Dick,  looking 
anxiously  in  the  direction  of  his  fellow-passengers. 

"  Cold  mornin',  mum !  "  said  the  constable,  addressing 
Hannah  doubtless,  but  eying  An  trie. 

Ilaimah  neither  noticed  nor  heard.     Angie  answered 
for  both,  —  "  Very  cold,  sir." 

44  Sorry  we  hain't  got  no  fire  in  this  place.  Howsom- 
ever,  Tracy  there's  gone  to  speak  to  the  boss.  He's 
got  a  snug  corner  at  t'other  end  o'  the  building.  I  guess 
we'll  get  you  warmed  up  somehow  'fore  long.  Ah,  here's 
the  boss  himself!"  he  exclaimed,  as  steps  were  heard  ap 
proaching.  "  Get  on  the  right  side  o'  him  now,  and  you'll 
do.  I'll  speak  a  good  word  for  you,  mum,"  and  "  mum  " 
\\i\-  tiin«-  meant  Angie  herself.  Her  troubled  face  had 
conciliated  this  man,  perhaps,  or  her  modest  manner,  or 
some  remnant  of  her  beauty  not  quite  overcast  by  pain. 
At  any  rate  he  went'  to  meet  the  chief  jailer,  and  prob 
ably  made  a  benevolent  suggestion  to  him,  for  imme 
diately  after  bidding  Van  Hausen,  whose  visit  he  had  ex 
pected,  a  matter-of-course  sort  of  good  morning,  the* 
jailer,  who  seemed  a  well-disposed  man.  though  not  much 
accustomed  to  practise  courtesy,  and  so  a  little  awkward 
at  it.  bowed  to  Hannah  with  ail  "Obedient  servant, 
ma'am  !  Hope  I  see  you  well,  ma'am  !  "  This  saluta 
tion  eliciting  no  reply,  except  "  Tin-  old  ooman's  deaf  !  " 
from  Van  Hausen,  the  jailer  said,  "Ah?"  and  then. 


O^V    THE    TRACK    OF   CRIME,  331 

apparently  relieved  by  the  assurance,  addressed  himself 
comfortably  to  Van  Hausen. 

u  You've  had  a  long  ride  this  morning,  I  hear,  sir," 
he  said.  "  It's  a  sharp  morning.  We  ought  to  have  a 
warmer  place  than  this  to  receive  visitors  in  at  this  time 
o'  year,  ladies  especially ;  but  we  haven't  —  that's  a  fact. 
Our  inspectors  don't  seem  to  see  the  necessity  of  it.  If 
I'd  only  known  about  the  ladies  now " 

"  Wai,"  interrupted  Dick,  "  she  would  come,  so  I 
fetched  her.  It's  my  sister,  you  see,  the  old  'ooman  is — 
the  widder  —  Rawle's  widder." 

O  !  ah !  indeed !  "  ejaculated  the  jailer,  turning  short 
round  and  surveying  Hannah  with  the  interest  and  curi 
osity  which  this  announcement  excited.  The  constable 
took  a  similar  survey,  so  did  the  assistant  jailer,  Tracy. 
From  an  obscure  old  woman,  Hannah  was  suddenly 
elevated  into  a  notoriety.  Not  only  was  she  the  widow 
of  a  man  mysteriously  murdered,  she  was  a  party  con 
cerned  in  the  detection  of  the  crime.  She  was  one  of 
themselves.  So  they  instinctively  took  the  measure  of 
her  calibre. 

"  She's  naterally  had  her  heart  sot  for  years  on  siftin' 
"out  this  'ere  thing,"  continued  Dick,  by  way  of  explain 
ing  Hannah's  presence.  "  She'd  like  to  have  a  hand  in  't, 
I  s'pose.  She's  got  a  bit  of  evidence  that  she  holds  on 
to  as  she  does  to  her  life." 

"  She  has,  has  she?  "  said  the  jailer.  "  Well,  it  may 
come  in  play.  Anyhow,  it's  no  harm  for  her  to  be  on 
the  spot  when  we  come  to  take  the  testimony.  I  don't 


//  it  .\  /  ED   H 

kn<>\v  who's  a  better  right.  But  we  mu-l  get  her  thawed 
out  lir.M.  Let  DM  Mel  We'\e  got  a  fire  in  tin-  in-pee- 
tor's  office,  haven't  we,  Tracy  ?  " 

Tracy  nodded  in  assent. 

44  I'm  expecting  the  district  attorney  and  his  clerk 
there  presently  on  this  very  business.  If  your  folks 
wouldn't  mind,  now,"  glancing  doubtfully  at  the  two 
women,  —  and  here  the  jailer  la-sit atrtl.  hold  a  moment's 
conference  aside  with  Tracy,  then  added  something  in  a 
low  tone  to  Van  Hausen. 

Apparently  Van  Hausen  assured  him  that  his  com 
panions  wouldn't  mind  this  something,  whatever  it  might 
be,  which  the  jailer  hinted  at.  lor  lie  immediately  replied, 
••  This  way,  then  !  "  and  was  starting  off,  motioning  to  the 
\  Mtors  to  follow  him. 

"  Look  here,  mister !  I've  got  to  go  and  see  to  my 
boss,"  said  Van  Hau.-eii.  ••  S'posiu'  I  leave  my  folks 
with  you  a  spell,  an'  jine  'em  in  half  an  hour  or  so? 
The  lawyers  won't  be  here  'fore  that  time,  will  they?" 

The  jailer  looked  at  his  watch.  *"  Quarter  past  nine  ! 
They  won't  be  here  till  ten,"  he  soliloquized.  "  No ; 
you've  got  time  enough."  he  added,  addressing  Van 
Ilatisen. 

"  Then  I'll  be  off,"  concluded  Dick,  taking  up  his 
whip,  and  proceeding  to  n-dasp  hi-  cloak. 

44  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you.  ma'am,  if  you'll  come 
with  me,"  said  the  jailer,  accosting  Angle,  in  default 
of  hearing  on  Hannah's  part,  just  as  the  constable  had 
done. 


ON  THE  TRACK  OF  CRIME.         333 

Angle  signified  to  Hannah  that  they  were  to  follow 
this  individual.  The  old  woman  rose  with  effort,  and 
moving  as  if  on  stilts,  so  numb  and  stiffened  had  her 
limbs  become,  tottered  away,  leaning  heavily  on  Angie's 
shoulder. 

"  You're  all  right  now,  miss,"  whispered  the  constable, 
in  his  patronizing  way,  to  Angie,  as  he  was  bowing  them 
out  of  the,  room.  Angie  thanked  him.  humbly  for  the 
assurance,  adding  that  they  should  be  very  glad  to  go 
where  there  was  a  fire.  "  She  's  a  spunky  old  woman," 
he  found  time  to  add,  as  they  moved  slowly  through  the 
door-way,  while  Van  Hausen  and  the  jailer  exchanged 
a  word  or  two  more  in  the  passage  outside.  "  Any 
relation  o'  yours  ?  " 

Angie  shuddered  and  shook  her  head. 

k'  A  right  spunky  old  woman.  I've  a  great  respect  for 
her.  She'll  be  quite  relieved  now  in  her  mind,  if  it  all 
comes  out  as  we  expect.  Won't  she  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  she  will,"  replied  Angie,  hesitatingly,  and 
turning  her  face  away  so  as  to  avoid  as  much  as  possible 
the  keen  eye  of  the  detective. 

"  Of  course  she  will,"  responded  the  man  confidently. 
"  Anyhow  she  has  my  best  wishes.  Good  morning, 
miss,"  and  hurrying  to  overtake  Van  Hausen,  for  whom 
Tracy  was  unbarring  the  front  entrance,  he  accompanied 
him  out  of  the  building,  while  Hannah  and  Angie  fol 
lowed  the  lead  of  the  jailer  in  the  opposite  direction. 

They  proceeded  through  several  narrow,  dark  corri 
dors,  with  iron  doors,  like  oven-doors  let  into  the  stone 


334  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

walls  at  regular  intervals,  went  up  one  steep  stain-a-f 
and  down  another,  and  passed  through  an  iron  gate  in 
one  of  the  passage-ways,  which  the  jailer  unlocked  for 
their  admittance,  and  locked  behind  them.  A  heavy 
door  of  oak,  cross-barred  with  iron,  led  them  at  last 
into  the  inspector's  office,  which  was  their  destination. 
This  room  was  scarcely  more  habitable  than  that  from 
which  they  had  come,  except  for  the  presence  of  a 
clumsy  pile  of  green  wood  in  the  fireplace  which  had 
been  coaxed  into  a  fitful  blaze  just  in  the  centre,  but  was 
dripping  its  cold  juices  on  to  the  hearth  in  cither  corner, 
and  was  altogether  as  little  suggestive  of  cheerfulness  or 
comfort  as  a  fire  could  be.  It  had  not  long  been  kindled, 
and  the  air  of  the  apartment  was  chilly.  The  windows, 
situated  on  that  side  of  the  prison  which  had  been 
exposed  to  last  night's  storm,  were  obscured  by  the 
snow  which  had  beaten  against  the  panes  and  fm/.-n 
there.  No  sun  reached  ihi-  >ide  of  the  building  in  tin- 
short  winter  days,  and  the  moderate  share  of  li«rht  which 
the  windows  usually  afforded  was  now  so  far  excluded 
by  the  coating  of  sleet,  that  but  for  the  faint  glow  which 
the  fire  imparted,  the  room  would  have  been  wrapped  in 
a  ninrky  twiliirlit.  The  walls  were  of  ronirh  plaster  :  a 
plan  of  the  prison  was  the  only  thing  that  ndirvrd  their 
bareness ;  a  plank-floor  well  sanded ;  a  high  desk  and 
three-It  "jiM-d  >tool ;  a  shallow  box,  filled  with  ashrs.  1»- 
neath  the  desk,  intended,  and  »-\  idcntly  much  used,  as  a 
spittoon  ;  a  lew  rash-bottomed  chairs,  painted  red;  and 
in  the  darkest  corner  a  wide  >.-nlr.  «\\  which  an  old  rn^, 


ON  THE  TRACK  OF  CRIME.        335 

a  horse-blanket,  and  some  articles  of  coarse  clothing,  in 
cluding  a  greasy  hat,  seemed  to  be  carelessly  huddled  to 
gether,  —  these  things  completed  the  picture  of  the  room 
into  which  IJannah  Rawle  and  Angie  were  ushered  by 
special  privilege  and  favor. 

But  the  fire  was  attraction  enough  for  these  trembling, 
half-frozen  women.  The  jailer  pushed  a  chair  in  front  of 
it  for  each  of  them ;  and  while  they  sat  warming  them 
selves,  he  turned  his  back  and  busied  himself  at  the  high 
desk,  looking  over  a  file  of  papers,  selecting  some  fools 
cap,  probably  for  the  district  attorney's  use,  and  hunting 
up  a  few  quill-pens,  inky  and  worn,  which,  after  he  had 
tested  them  by  a  few  rapid  and  satisfactory  experiments, 
he  stuck  upright  in  a  raw  turnip,  that  answered  the 
double  purposes  of  pen-wiper  and  pen-holder. 


336  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

A    STRANGE    COMPACT. 

AKGIE  was  soon  warm.  The  effect  of  the  fire  upon 
Hannah,  however,  seemed  to  be  that  of  developing 
rather  than  allaying  the  chill  with  which  her  system 
was  charged.  The  imperceptible  shiver  which  ordi 
narily  attends  long-continued  exposure  to  cold  became 
a  tremor  so  violent  and  universal  that  her  knees  knocked 
together,  her  chair  shook  under  her,  and  the  tapping  of 
her  feet  on  the  floor  was  distinctly  audil>le.  She  mani 
fested  many  of  the  symptoms,  which,  to  the  experienced 
observer,  are  prophetic  of  paralysis,  or  what  the  unsophis 
ticated  would  express,  in  general  terms,  as  an  "  ill  turn." 
She  probably  feared  some  such  re-ult  lin>elf,  tor  her  lips 
wen-  a-_r;i|H-  with  agitation,  her  breath  ea:ur  quick  and 
short,  and  her  eye  was  turned  upon  Angie  with  an  ex 
pression  of  alarm.  Ani_rir  started  to  her  assistance.  So 
did  the  jailer.  The  former  loosened  the  strings  of  her 
silk  bag, — the  indispensable  of  those  days,  —  and  pro- 
dueed  a  vial  e«>nt:iininir  spirits  of  camphor,  which  she 
uncorked  and  applied  to  Hannah's  nostrils.  The  fumes 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  337 

seemed  to  act  as  a  partial  restorative,  for  the  patient 
gasped  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  If  I  only  had  some  hot  water  to  mix  with  it,  I'd 
give  her  a  little  of  this  to  drink,"  cried  Angie.  . 

"  I  rather  think  I  can  muster  some,"  was  the  cordial 
response  of  the  jailer,  who  had  hitherto  stood  by,  anx 
ious  but  inefficient.  "  I'll  see,"  and  he  hastened  from 
the  room. 

It  was  a  considerable  distance  to  the  prison  kitchen, 
where  the  hot-water  boilers  were,  and  the  jailer  was 
gone  some  minutes.  By  the  time  he  returned,  bringing 
with  him  a  porringer  of  hot  water  and  a  little  tin  mug, 
Hannah  had  partially  rallied.  A  dose  of  diluted  spirits 
of  camphor,  which  Angie  then  administered,  proved  so 
efficacious  that  the  tremor  soon  began  to  subside,  the 
blue  lips  of  the  patient  resumed  their  natural  color,  she 
became  composed  and  breathed  easily. 

"  That  '11  do  —  now,  let  me  alone  !  "  she  said  impera 
tively  to  Angie,  as  soon  as  she  could  recover  her  speech. 
"  I'm  well  enough  —  go  an'  sit  down,  child  !  "  she  added, 
with  irritation,  seeing  that  Angie,  who  had  been  support 
ing  her  head,  still  stood  watching  her  progress  towards 
recovery.  "  I  hate  to  see  folks  make  a  fuss  about 
nothing,"  muttered  Hannah,  speaking  to  herself,  but  as 
usual  in  an  audible  tone. 

Angie  obeyed.     The  jailer,  seeing  the  girl  thus  uncerr 

emoniously  repulsed,  and  much  diverted  himself  at  the 

old  woman's  "  grit,"  bit  his  lips  to  keep  from  laughing, 

and  returned  to  his  occupation  at  the  desk.     After  a 

29 


386  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

while  l>e  gathered  up  tfic  papers  In-  had  heen  examining 
and  went  out,  pausing  at  the  door  an  instant  to  in.-j.ect 
the  room  with  a  jailer's  eye,  and  see  if  all  was  right, 
especially  the  obscure  corner  where  the  settle  was,  which 
he  peered  into  so  scrutinizingly  before  satisfying  himself 
of  the  .-at'ety  of  c\ery  thing,  that  the  action  attracted 
Angie's  attention,  and  at\er  he  had  gone  her  e\v>  uncon 
sciously  continued  to  rest  upon  the  dark  pile  of  rag.-  and 
clothing  which  was  heaped  up  there. 

The  jailer's  step  had  hardly  ceased  to  echo  through 
the  long-  stone  corridors  wdieu  Angie  was  startled  by  a 
low,  moaning  sound,,  a  sort  of  suppressed  groan  proceed 
ing  from  the  dim  corner  into  which  she  was  gazing.  At 
the  same  moment  there  was  a  perceptible  motion  in  the 
dark  heap  on  the  settle.  Angie  held  her  breath  and  lis 
tened  ;  her  eyes  were  strained  and  intent  upon  the  move 
ment.  It  almost  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  be  dream 
ing,  and  that  the  moan  of  pain  and  despair  which  >he 
heard  was  an  utterance  wrung  from  her  own  aching 
heart.  Any  self-delusion  on  this  subject,  however,  was 
but  momentary,  for  almost  before  she  could  indulge  in 
a  conjecture  concerning  what  had  just  met  her  eye  and 
ear,  a  liirurc  hitherto  stretched  out  on  the  .-eitle  and 
a-leep  started  into  a  sitting  p«>.-tiuv.  with  Mu-h  spasmodic 
velocity  and  force,  that  Angie,  as  if  actuated  by  an 
electric  shock,  sprang  to  her  feet  at  the  same  in  taut. 

"Who's  that?"  cried  a  voice  in  what  would  ha\e 
been  a  shriek,  but  that  feebleness  transformed  it  into 
a  whisper. 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  339 

Angie,  frightened  no  less  by  the  ghostly  voice  than 
by  the  spectral  object  which  she  beheld  opposite  to 
her,  stood  still  and  made  no  reply. 

"•  AYhat  do  I  smell  ?  Give  us  some  on't  ;  come 
here ! "  cried  the  sepulchral  voice,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  great  gaunt  hand  clutched  eagerly  at  the  air 
in  the  direction  of  Angie.  The  gesture  was  so  threat 
ening,  the  dread  that  this  ghostly  figure  would  rise 
and  make  a  spring  at  her,  so  overmastered  any  lesser 
fear  that  Angie  crept  a  little  nearer.  At  the  same 
time  she  gave  a  timid  glance  at  Hannah,  who,  deaf 
and  drowsing  (for  the  camphor  was  exercising  a 
soothing  influence  upon  her),  saw  and  heard  nothing. 
Even  at  this  present  crisis  the  fear  of  Hannah  was  in 
stinctively  uppermost  with  Angie.  "  Hush,"  she  said, 
in  a  persuasive  tone,  as  she  approached  the  fresh  object 
of  dread  so  unexpectedly  revealed  to  her.  "  Hush ! 
lie  still !  you'll  disturb  her,"  pointing  towards  Hannah. 

But  the  exhortation  was  needless.  Before  Angie, 
creeping  cautiously  forward,  had  reached  the  settle,  the 
figure,  exhausted  and  faint,  had  fallen  back  like  a  dead 
weight  and  lay  mute  and  rigid. 

Augie,  breathing  more  freely  as  the  form  before  her 
thus  became  powerless  for  harm,  stood  and  gazed  upon 
it.  It  was  a  man,  or  rather  the  vestige  of  a  man,  a  mere 
wreck.  There  is  nothing  on  earth  so  ugly  as  sickness, 
except  sin.  The  one  ravages  the  body  as  the  other  the 
soul.  Both  had  done  their  worst  to  waste  and  deform 
this  man.  The  result  was  appalling.  Add  to  this  the 


340  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

unusual  size  of  his  frame,  now  a  skeleton,  trying  every 
where,  a-  it  M-cmed,  to  force  itself  through  the  skin,  the 
coarse  clothes  that,  too  larirc  for  his  wa.Mcd  body,  were 
carelessly  put  on  and  hung  loosely  about  him,  the  shirt 
gaping  wide,  ami  in  tin-  ab-ence  of  every  species  of  neck 
cloth,  revealing  a  gri-dy  throat  and  eheM  with  .-harp  pro 
truding  breast-bone,  the  hair  and  beard  of  a  satyr,  and 
behind  them  tin-  face  of  a  ghost,  an  uye  so  sunken  and 
hollow  as  to  be  almost  lost,  and  yet  burning  with  the 
fire  of  unquenchable  violence  and  lust,  —  and  was  it 
strange  that  Angie's  first  sensation,  when  she  saw  him 
fall  back  lifeless  was  one  of  deliverance  and  relief?  — 
that,  unable  to  summon  help  against  this  wretch's  possi 
ble  violence,  she  found  her  own  strength  in  his  weak 
ness?  Inevitable  as  was  this  first  feeling,  compassion 
almost  instantly  succeeded  it.  As  he  lay  with  his  eyes 
closed,  his  consciousness  gone,  his  form,  just  now  writh 
ing  with  excitement  and  vehemence,  reduced  to  more 
than  infant  feehleness,  all  the  woman  in  Angie  was 
Mil-red;  the  wivtch  of  the  last  moment  \\.-i-  the  victim 
of  this  ;  her  terror  was  changed  to  pity  ;  he  needed  her  ; 
not  to  help  herself  but  him,  was  now  her  first  impulse, 
and  she  applied  herself  to  the  task,  not  without  an  in 
ward  shrinking,  hut  with  no  less  zeal  than  she  had 
employed  a  few  moments  before  I'm-  Hannah's  restora 
tion.  But  not  with  >uch  immediate  success.  For  some 
time  her  efforts  were  unavailing.  She  chafed  his  tem 
ples  with  the  camphorated  spirit  which  he  had  smelt 
and  craved,  applied  it  to  his  nose  and  lips,  fanned  him 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  341 

with  his  hat,  and  exhausted  all  her  little  curative  arts, 
but  apparently  to  no  purpose.  The  swoon  was  utter  and 
obstinate  ;  she  could  not  even  perceive  that  he  breathed  ; 
and  at  last  she  found  all  her  self-command  forsaking  her 
in  the  belief  that  the  blow  which  had  thus  felled  him  in  her 
very  sight  was  nothing  less  than  a  death-blow.  She  had 
just  reached  such  a  stage  of  alarm  that  to  rouse  Hannah, 
run  into  the  passage  "way,  and  clamor  for  aid  from  some 
quarter,  would  have  become  instinctive  and  inevitable, 
when  the  object  of  her  cares-  gave  a  slight  gasp,  then  a 
feeble  breath  dilated  his  nostrils. 

"  He's  coming  to  !  "  murmured  Angie,  with  thank 
fulness.  "  Poor  soul !  "  she  added  pitifully,  putting  one 
hand  beneath  his  head  and  raising  him  a  little,  while 
with  the  other  she  diligently  bathed  his  forehead  with 
camphor.  She  was  thus  .occupied,  thus  murmuring, 
when  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

Now  this  man  was  no  novice.  He  had  tasted  life  at 
many  springs,  exhausted  many.  He  had  worn  out  the 
world  and  himself;  he  had  known  far  too  much.  But 
there  was  one  thing  he  had  never  known,  —  the  touch 
of  a  virtuous  woman's  hand ;  the  sound  of  her  voice  in 
pity.  Had  he  wakened  out  of  his  swoon  to  hear  some 
angel  voice  welcoming  him  to  the  abodes  of  the  blest, 
to  feel  some  angel  hand  washing  away  his  sins,  he 
could  not  have  been  more  astonished,  more  awed.  That 
little  remnant  of  virtue  which  his  soul  retained, — 

"  for  neither  do  the  spirits  damn'd 

Lose  all  their  virtue " 

29* 


;U-J  /•  -i  L- .\rr  i)  HKARTS. 

shone  throuirh  the  mass  of  corruption  which  he  had 
otherwise  become,  —  and  for  the  first  time,  throughout 
a  long  career  of  guilt,  tin-  expression  of  this  man's 
evt>  had  in  it  nothing  terrible. 

So  Angie  kept  on  with  her  task,  undismayed  by  the 
eve  la.-tciii'd  full  upon  lu-r;  she  even  smiled  upon  her 
patient  with  a  gentle  smile  of  congratulation  and  encour 
agement,  at  which  he  only  wondered  tin-  more. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  a  little  to  drink?"  she  presently 
asked,  seeing  how  eagerly  In-  l><"_ran  to  -nutV  tin-  med 
icated  spirits,  and  remembering  that  this  was  what  he 
had  smelt  and  been  seized  with  a  longing  for  on  first 
awaking. 

lie  responded  by  a  sort  of  grunt,  expressive  of  sat 
isfaction  at  the  proposal. 

Tin-  porringer  of  hot  water  wa-  .-till  Mrnmint:  on  the 
hearth.  Anirie  oner  more  poured  from  her  vial  into 
the  tin  mu.Lf.  and  diluted  the  spirits  from  the  porringer  — 
very  weak  she  made  the  dose  this  time.  She  stepped 
stealthily  to  the  fireplace  and  back  again  so  as  not  to 
disturb  Hannah,  who  was  by  this  time  deep  in  her  nap, 
sitting  bolt  upright,  as  was  her  practice,  we  know,  at 
home. 

u  You  feel  better  now,  don't    \  ••;]?"   wa<  An 
kind  inquiry,  a-  the  nek  man  alier  drinking  jrliillin:- 
handed  back  the  mug  to  her.  at    the  same  time  smacking 
his   lips    and    licking    up    the    drops    that    cluu.ir   to    his 
beard. 

lie    ftns\\ creel    only   by   stretching  out  his  hand    and 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  343 

feeling  of  hers,  reverently,  as  if  to  test  whether  her 
touch  was  really  any  thing  human. 

"  Poor  hand !  how  thin  it  is  !  "  said  Angie,  trying 
not  to  shrink  from  the  bony  fingers  with  their  great 
out-grown  joints.  "  Let  me  bathe  it,"  she  added,  partly 
out  of  compassion,  still  more,  perhaps,  as  a  ruse  to 
escape  the  repulsive  ordeal  of  his  touch ;  and  stretch 
ing  the  hand  on  the  rug  which  served  for  a  coverlet, 
she  moistened  a  handkerchief  already  devoted  to  the 
cause,  and  bathed  the  dry  skeleton  thing  sedulously 
for  a  moment  or  two. 

It  pleased,  and  no  doubt  refreshed  him.  Childlike 
(for  he  had  been  a  child  once,  and  childhood  came 
back  to  him  strangely  at  this  moment) ,  he  soon 
stretched  out  the  other  hand  in  a  pleading  fashion. 

Angie  understood  ;  said,  "  Yes,  indeed  !  "  and  cheer 
fully  accepted  this  new  claimant  for  attention.  She  had 
scarcely  made  a  pass  across  it  with  the  handkerchief, 
however,  when  she  stopped  short,  —  something  had 
happened  to  her,  —  she  could  not  proceed.  It  was  ntot 
that  this  man  had  some  time  met  with  aii  injury  ;  that  one 
of  his  joints  was  bent  so  as  to  be  at  right  angles  with  the 
rest  of  the  finger,  and  that  the  nail  was  shapeless,  —  it 
was  not  even  that  it  was  the  right  hand,  and  the  third 
finger,  that  had  suffered  thus,  —  this  sort  of  accident 
might  have  occurred  to  any  body.  No,  it  was  not  that 
alone ;  but,  as  the  finding  of  the  first  link  in  a  lost 
chain  is  the  finding  of  all  the  rest,  so  Angle,  seeing 
this,  saw  more.  Let  one  whom  we  have  not  behelcl 


:, !  I  //  i  /    *.  /  /  it   H  •    i  /. 

tur  years,  and  v\hom  time  and  many  change ~  ha-  trans 
formed,  come  upon  n<  suddenly,  and  ho  is  a  stranger  :  let 
him  show  us  one  lainiliar  look,  recall  one  as.-oeialiou  con 
nected  with  him  in  the-  past,  and  tin-  recognition  i>  in.-tan: 
and  complete.  A  moment  more  and  we  wonder  we  <  \t  r 
could  have  mistaken  his  identity.  So  with  Angie  ;  to  re 
cognize  this  token  was  to  pause,  to  ([ticstiou  herself,  to  be 
convinced,  and  all  in  one  second  of  time.  Almost  before 
she  could  drop  the  hand  and  scan  the  face,  she  knew 
what  misery,  disease,  and  decay  had  only  veiled.  Li-Jit 
now  had  come  in  like  a  Hash  and  revealed  to  her  Nich 
olas  Ely. 

She  had  half  expected  to  see  this  very  man  before  the 
day  was  over.  She  had  looked  to  find  him  in  the  crim 
inal  prepared  to  testify.  She  had  imagined  how.  when 
the  lawyers  canie.  this  well-rememhere<l  villain  would 
come  too,  —  a  great,  bloated,  swaggering,  swearing 
villain  ;  but  to  iind  him  thus,  was  a  discovery  as  start 
ling  as  if  she  had  encountered  what  he  indeed  looked 
to  be  —  his  own  gho-t  :  and  more  to  l»e  dreaded,  fur  real 
ghosts  are  phantoms,  this  seeming  ghost  was  real. 

And  what  a  ta>k  was  that  which  she  had  set  herself! 
no  mortal  task  —  the  washing  «»P  those  hands!  Could 
she  continue  ii  ?  At  iir>i  IwT  whoie  soul  re\«»lted  at  the 
thought  ;  then  came  a  reaction.  Wen-  not  hands  that 
she  had  clasped  in  lo\e.  that  her  -eeret  heart  damped  still, 
as  blood-.-tained  in  their  -ra\e,  perhap-?  ^^'liat  right 
ha.l  -I"-  to  shim  a  mnrderer's  hands?  And.  the  strniyjle 
t.  -lie  bathed  on  more  assidimn-ly  than  before,  not 


A    STKANGE    COMPACT.  345 

without  wondering,  with  a  cold  shudder,  as  she  strove  to 
cleanse  those  accursed  hands,  if  it  was  blood  that  had 
shrunk  and  withered  them  so. 

The  shock  had  been  so  momentary,  the  hesitation 
whether  to  resume  her  task  or  retreat  dismayed  had  been 
so  well  mastered,  that  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  she  had 
done  any  thing  to  attract  attention  or  excite  alarm.  But 
there  must  have  been  something  on  her  part,  either  in 
action  or  look,  that  was  abrupt  and  significant.  The 
magnetism  with  which  she  had  hitherto  charmed  her 
patient  into  repose  was  broken  ;  the  acute  sensibilities  of 
disease  were  irritated.  Without  giving  her  a  chance  to 
regain  the  monotonous  motion  which  had  proved  so  sooth 
ing,  this  fevered  man  (no  longer  a  trusting  child  —  she 
had  startled  and  banished  the  child)  snatched  his  hands 
from  her,  raised  himself  on  his  couch  in  the  same  vehe 
ment  manner  as  on  his  first  awakening,  and  cried  out  in 
that  husky  Avhisper  which  gave  a  mysterious  horror  to 
his  slightest  word,  "Who  are  yer?  I  say,  what  are  yer 
here  fur?" 

Involuntarily  Angie  retreated  a  step,  upon  which  the 
man,  naturally  brutal,  and  seeing  her  courage  yield,  tried 
to  grasp  her  arm,  and  would  have  become  fierce  and 
clamorous  in  his  speech,  but  there  was  no  tenacity  to  his 
limp  muscles,  and  his  words  resolved  themselves  into  a 
gurgle.  His  hand  fell  as  if  paralyzed,  and  he  could  only 
question  her  with  his  eyes. 

Seeing  this,  Angie  resumed  her  sway.  "  Be  quiet," 
she  said,  in  a  tone  none  the  less  commanding  that  it  was 


340  ii. i  r.s  TKD  HEAI 

l.)\\  ;  M  I  NVjH  tell  you  nothing  until  yon  lie  down 
and  an-  quiet.  There  !"  as  he  fell  hack,  cxhau-ted  and 
obedient,  ••  that  is  rij_rht  :  now  think  a  moment,  and  you 
will  know  who  1  am.  You  have  seen  UK-  befi 

A  wild,  incredulous  stare  now  fastened  it.-elf  up>ii  her. 
Though  inwardly  tivmlilini:  under  his  Lra/e,  she  suft'ered  it 
a  while  :  then,  liavinir  :i~-  mvd  hrrseli'  that  he  was  com 
pletely  subdued,  and  percemnii  that  the  racking  of  his 
memory  was  costing  him  fruitless  efforts,  she  said,  in  the 
1"\. .  lirm  tone  which  evidently  impressed  him  powerfully, 
'*  I  know  you,  Nicholas  Bly,  and  you  will  know  me  when 
I  tell  you  who  I  am,  and  how  I  came  here.  Have  you 
forgotten  Angie  Cousin,  daughter  of  the  old  Frenchman 
at  St.. in's  Plains?" 

IK-  wm ild  have  started  up  in  surprise  at  this,  but  she 
held  him  down  ;  it  did  not  require  much  strength. 

"  I  know  I  am  changed,"  said  she  ;  "  misery  changes 
us  all;  but  you  saw  me  the  ni^ht  of  the  Christmas  ball. 
You  must  have  seen  me  before,  T  think,  for  your  face  was 
familiar  to  me  then,  though  I  did  not  know  your  name 
until  afterwards." 

While  she  spoke,  he  was  scanning  her  features  —  a 
process  which,  heirinnin.i:  in  doubt,  ended  in  conviction, 
the  latter  as.-ertinir  it.-elf,  the  moment  she  paused,  in  the 
words,  whi.-pcn-d  hoarsely,  as  if  to  himself.  "  It'.-  tin- 
very  gal  !"  and  confirmed  l.y  an  oath  which  would  have 
been  hnrriblr  in  the  mouth  of  a  man  in  full  .-tren^th,  and 
whi.-h  M  «  nicd  as  it  it  must  blast  the  feeble  lips  that  gave 
it  utterance. 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  347 

"  Don't  swear,"  cried  Angle,  imploringly  ;  "  don't  speak 
such  a  word  as  that  again." 

He  grinned  in  a  ghastly  fashion,  but  was  awed,  never 
theless,  by  a  request  so  strange,  and  —  what  would  have 
seemed  miraculous  to  any  old  comrade  of  his  —  he  gave 
vent  to  his  blasphemy  but  once  again  during  his  further 
dialogue  with  her. 

"What  do  you  know  about  me?"  he  asked,  abruptly, 
after  a  moment,  and  looked  anxiously  at  her,  awaiting 
her  answrer. 

"  All." 

"  All !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  suppressed  howl.  "  What, 
not  about — .?"  and  he  stopped  short. 

"  About  old  Baultie  Rawle?  Yes  ;  you  can  hardly  tell 
me  any  thing  about  that  which  I  do  not  know  already." 

"  Who  else  knows  ?"  he  gasped  forth,  his  eyes  rolling 
wildly. 

"  Nobody." 

"  Nobody  else?" 

"  Not  another  soul." 

"You  never  told?" 

"  Never." 

"You're  a  — "  he  was  about  to  preface  his  noun  of 
compliment  by  a  string  of  most  profane  adjectives,  but  Jier 
look  checked  him  at  the  first  syllable  —  "You're  a  —  a 
—  angel ! "  he  brought  out  with  difficulty,  and  an  apparent 
consciousness  that  the  word  was  a  tame  one  to  express 
his  appreciation  of  her. 

"  How  could  I  tell  and  betray  you  both?"  was  her  im 
pulsive  ejaculation. 


34  M  HA  U  -V  7  A  D    JIhAKTS. 


tin-  youn-j  man  you  wa-  partial  to  thcu,  not 
Nick  P>ly?  O,  I  soo  !  I  under  -land  1"  Nick  -poke  with 
more  distinctness  now.  K\<-iie:iiciit  had  partially  re 
stored  his  voice. 

UI  loved  him.''  .-aid  An-ir.  I  —  I  —  pity  you;  but 
you  \\viv  ;i  -iranirer,  and  I  fin-nl  him  dearly." 

"Loved  him  riirht  straight  ihr  >ui:li  ?  " 

»  Yes." 

u  Love  him  now,  l»y  -  '."  Ho  harc-ly  restrained 
himself  this  time  from  an  oath  in  confirmation  of  Un 
truth  which  her  heaving  breast  and  trembling  lips 
revealed. 

"  I  do." 

"  Wai,"  again  with  difficulty  suppressing  a  blas 
phemy,  "  ain't  you  a  buster  for  lovin'  ?  " 

Angie  was  silent  ;  this  was  a  question  that  required 
no  other  answer  than  lu-r  sobs. 

"  He  wan't  wuth  it,"  soliloqui/rd  Nick,  looking  at  her 
with  mingled  admiration  and  pity,  both  ennobling  senti 
ments,  almost  unknown  before  in  this  had  man's  br« 

Angie  made  haste  to  control  In  -r-'lf.  Pride  came  to 
her  aid.  She  must  not  lose  her  self-control  in  such  a 
presence.  It  would  be  too  degrading. 

"Anyhow,"  continued  Nick,  who  had  spent  the  lim«- 
she  occupied  in  rallying,  in  mental  calculation,  and  who 
addivs>ed  her  the  moment  she  looked  up,  "  you  saved 
my  neck  from  swiuirin'  lur  nijrh  on  ter  hall'  a  do/en  year  : 
1  thank  ycr  fur  that  ;  it  don't  matter  to  me  how  it  came 
about,  so's  I  was  the  gainer.  You  may  blow  now  fur's 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  349 

I  care.  It's  all  one  to  me.  I'm  bound  to  blow  myself, 
whether  or  no,  an'  give  the  devil  his  due.  He's  got  his 
grip  on  me  already.  I'd  like  to  tickle  him  with  some 
other  game  ; "  and  Nick's  words  ended  in  a  smothered 
roar  —  one  of  those  yells  of  bodily  anguish  which  tell  of 
giant  strength  transformed  to  giant  pain. 

Angie  waited  until  the  groan  was  past,  and  until  he 
had  ceased  to  writhe  under  the  paroxysm. 

"/give  that  young  man's  name  up  to  infamy,  Nicho 
las  Bly  !"  she  then  vehemently  exclaimed,  —  "no,  never, 
nor  you  either ;  —  whatever  else  you  tell,  you  must  not, 
you  sfifall  not,  betray  him  ! " 

"Why  not?"  was  the  defiant  retort,  spirted  at  her 
from  between  teeth  clinched  with  agony. 

She  took  advantage  of  the  acknowledgment  he  had 
just  made.  She  had  no  real  claim  on  that  score,  but  she 
was  desperate.  "  I  have  kept  your  secret  all  these 
years,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  appeal ;  "  now  you  must 
keep  mine ! " 

He  parted  his  teeth  only  to  grin  scornfully  at  her. 
"  'Twas  yourn  all  along,"  was  his  keen  answer,  when, 
at  length,  he  spoke. 

"  I  know  it ;  I  know  it,"  she  replied,  as  vehement  in 
her  candor  as  in  her  expostulation.  "  It  was  for  -his 
sake  ;  I  own  that,  —  but  I  spared  you  as  well.  O,  keep  it 
now,  for  mercy's  sake,  and  spare  me  ! " 

"  What   would   /  get   by   keeping  dark,   I'd  like  to 
know? "was  the  rejoinder   of  one,  in  whom  a  brutish 
greed  was  instinctively  uppermost. 
30 


HA  r.\  J'J  it  m  i  . 

••  You   will  get    nothing  l>v  botmying  him."  responded 
\        -.  confidently. 

••  >h:i'.ri  1?"  he  exclaimed.  -  You  needn't  t.-ll  *e 
that  !  Y«>u  think,  I  >'po>e.  that  imthiif  in  this  world  pftO 
do  any  good  to  a  poor  rascal  that's  got  tin-  death-grip 
on  him.  and  is  bound  to  kick  the  Imeket  'lore  many  day.-. 
Hut  it'  I  had  only  on.-  breath  left,  ^al,  I'd  give  it  i< 
him  with  a  rope  round  his  neck.  I  would." 

"  O,  how   can   you   be   so   cruel  ? "  she   cried,    r 
both   hands  before  her  face   to  shut   out  the  malignant 
expression  which   frowned  on   her   like  a  leathering  tem 
pest. 

"(  ruel  !  "  lie  vociferated,  in  husky  tones,  the  gna>h- 
ing  of  his  wolfish  teeth  making  up  in  fierceness  what  his 
voice  lacked  in  strength.  "Look  here  !  "  and  he  -natched 
her  hands  before  she  could  repel  him.  and  ^\itli  a  force 
for  which  she  was  unprepared,  and  holding  them  a  mo 
ment,  compelled  her  to  face  the  torrent  of  ra-v  which 
her  words  had  excited.  "Cruel,  you  call  it.  do  yer? 
you  fool!  What  do  you  know 'bout  cruelty?  I'll  tell 
v« T  what's  cruel,  I  will.  It's  for  me  to  do  the  dirty 
work  atf  starve,  an'  fur  him  to  live  idle  an'  lick  up  the 
cream.  It's  fur  me  to  >kulk  ahout  in  ra  -  ;m'  ha\'e  jhe 

O1  the  law  ;it  my  heeU,  an'  fur  him  l<> 
clothe^  an'  ]>lav  the  --e:it!eman  !  It's  fur  him  In  lie  strong, 
an'  rich,  an'  free,  and  fur  me  to  rot  in  a  jail  !  An'  which 
on  us  is  the  wu-t  ':  lie  had  eddicat  ion.  an'  friend-,  an' 
chances  in  lite,  an'  I.  I  was  a  poor  toad,  that  WM  horn 
an'  brought  up  in  the  mud.  I  was  had  enough  Tore  he 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  351 

crossed  my  path,  but  since  then  I've  been  the  devil's 
own  cub.  His  time's  come  though  at  last !  Blow  on 
him,  gal  ?  yes,  I  will,  and  blast  him  !  He  carries  mat 
ters  with  a  high  hand  now,  I  warrant ;  but  I'll  soon  see 

yer  laid  low  as  I  am,  yer "  and  giving  license 

now  to  his  blasphemous  tongue,  he  apostrophized  hi,-; 
former  accomplice  in  a  volley  of  epithets  so  imprecatory, 
that  the  walls  of  the  room  seemed  to  shudder,  and  Han 
nah  partially  awoke,  and  muttered  like  one  disturbed  by 
uneasy  dreams.  At  the  same  time  Angie  released  her 
self,  by  a  sudden  effort,  from  a  grasp  which  she  felt  to  be 
more  than  ever  contagious  of  evil. 

"What  yer 'fraid  of?  I  won't  hurt  you?"  expostu 
lated  Nick. 

"You  have  hurt  me!  You  mean  to  hurt  me!"  she 
cried,  in  the  tone  of  one  suffering  torture  already.  "  Yes, 
me  and  his  old  mother,  nobody  else,  —  you  cannot  hurt 
the  poor  fellow  you  have  cursed." 

"What  do  yer  mean  by  that?  "he  retorted,  at  once 
incredulous  and  alarmed. 

"  He's  laid  low  already  ;  as  low  as  you  could  wish." 

"How?     Where?" 

"He  is  dead." 

"  Dead ! "  echoed  Nick,  with  a  smothered  roar,  like 
that  of  a  wild  beast  disappointed  of  its 'prey. 

The  unearthly  sound  completed  the  awakening  of  Han 
nah,  whose  short,  final  snore  gave  indication  of  an  abrupt 
restoration  to  consciousness. 

"  Are  you  sure?"  questioned  Nick,  the   eagerness   of 


HA  r  v  7 •/. •/> 

lii-  doubt  relieving,  for  a  moment,  the  blank  oxpr 

of    defeat    and    chagrin    which    had   overspread   his   face. 

••An  ie.  where  arc  you?  who'-  that  ?"  queried  Han- 
nali  at  tlie  same  insiant,  i-d^ing  round  in  her  chair  as 
.-In-  .-poke,  and  gazing  into  the  dark  corner,  darker  than 
now,  for  tin-  lire  had  ceased  blazing  altogether, 
and  tlu  Miiokinir  embers  occasionally  sent  a  whiff  into 
the  room  and  thickened  the  atmosphere. 

"Sure  as  I  am  of  my  own  life,"  was  Annie1-  low, 
solemn  answer  to  the  first  question.  **  I'm  here,  ma'am! 
It's  only  a  sick  man,"  was  her  response  to  Hannah,  ut 
tered  in  a  louder  key. 

"Who  are  you  speaking  to?  who's  scttiif  there?*1 
demanded  Bly,  looking  round  with  agitation  ;  for  he  now 
realized  for  the  first  time  that  a  third  party  was  present 
in  the  room. 

"  The  old  woman  I  came  with,"  said  Angie,  in  a 
soothing  tone  ;  u  only  the  old  woman." 

"A  what,  did  you  say?  Come  close,  I  can't  hear!" 
burst  petulantly  from  Hannah  meanwhile.  4k  Wait — 
tell  me  one  thing  fust !  Was  it  suicide?  "  gasped  Bly,  in 
a  whisper ;  and  catching  Angie  by  the  shoulder,  he  forci 
bly  detained  her. 

"One  of  the  prisoners!  he's  sick!"  she  shouted,  by 
way  of  appeasing  Hannah  —  at  the  same  time  that  she 
an-wi-red  lily  by  an  aflirmative  i_re>ture. 

"  I  thoii  '      .1,-M  like  him!      The  mean  don  !  he's 

even  cheated  the  Caller.-.  !  "   snliloqui/cd  lily,  -till  holding 
Angie  fast,  a«  if  she  were  a  li«'-t.i;(  .     ••  A  -ick  prisoner! 


A     STRAKGE    COMPACT.  353 

Patience  alive,  what  business  lias  he  here?  Let  him 
alone,  don't  you  hear  me  ?  It  may  be  ketchin  !  "  cried 
Hannah,  imperatively. 

"  There,  let  me  go  !  Mrs.  Rawle  is  calling  me  ;  she 
will  be  angry,"  pleaded  Angie,  struggling  to  release  her 
self. 

Mrs.  Rawle  was  angry.  She  was  already  starting  up 
out  of  her  chair. 

"  Rawle  ?  "  echoed  Nick,  in  sudden  alarm.  "  Not,"  — 
and  his  voice  trembled  and  sank  to  the  feeblest  whisper, 
—  "  not  —  his  old  ooman  —  the  widder  ?  " 

She  was  approaching  at  a  sort  of  spring-halt.  Angie, 
standing  just  between  her  and  the  bedside,  again  nodded 
in  the  affirmative. 

"Keep  her  off!  keep  her  off!"  shrieked  Nick,  in  the 
tone  and  accent  of  one  frenzied  with  fear.  "I  know 
her.  She's  a  tiger  !  —  a  wild-cat !  She'll  tear  my  eyes 
out !  "  and  drawing  up  his  knees,  by  way  of  a  barricade 
for  the  rest  of  his  person,  he  shrank  back  and  crouched 
in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  settle. 

"  She  shan't  hurt  you  !  "  was  Angie's  prompt  assurance 
to  Ely  ;  at  the  same  time  interposing  between  him  and 
Hannah,  she  thrust  her  back,  with  the  words,  "  Don't 
come  too  near  ;  he's  afraid  of  you  !  " 

"What's  he  'fraid  on?"  cried  Hannah,  sharply;  then 
bestowing  a  keen  look  on  him  —  "  why,  he's  mad  !  "  He 
looked  the  maniac,  certainly,  as,  drawn  up  into  a  heap, 
he  glared  at  her,  and  with  hands  outspread  like  claws, 
at  once  anticipated  and  shrank  from  a  conflict. 
30* 


HA  r  \  T  r  1>    HF  A  RT<. 

\ 

••  Hi-'-  !'e\eri-h  ;uul  excited  !  "  cried  Angie.  putting  her 
mouth  1«>  Hannah's  car;  "JOB  -tart  led  him.  He  didn't 
know  vmi  were  hrrc.  If  you'll  -«>  hark  and  .-it  d-.wn  1 
can  ipiiet  him." 

lint  Hannah,  always  courageous,  and  stimulated  now 
by  curiosity,  only  answered  with  ••  liosh,  child  !  "  and  she 
made  a  movement  to  push  pa-t  Angie,  aud  obtain  a  nearer 
survey  of  the  strange  object  curled  up  in  the  corner. 

u  Keep  her  off!  keep  her  off !"  reiterated  Ely,  with 
frantic  gestures  :  for  her  resistance  to  Angie,  coniirmod 
him  in  the  notion  that  she  was  approaching  with  thn-at- 
ening  intent. 

Again  Anirie  assured  him  of  his  safely,  hut  the  poor 
wretch,  helple.--  and  conscience-stricken,  was  palpitating 
in  every  liiah,  so  terrible  was  his  dread  of  Hannah's 
vengeance.  He  lee&ed  to  have  an  intuitive  conception 
of  her  charactiT.  -k  She  knows  inc."  he  gurgled  out,  as 
if  he  read  his  death-warrant  in  the  old  woman's  eyes. 
"  She's  heard  what  we've  .-aid  ;  you've  betrayed  me  to 
her!"  and  he  shook  his  fist  furiou.-ly  at  Angie,  who  had, 
as  he  believed,  suffered  Hannah  to  remain  in  ambush, 
>  to  maMrr  hi-  MM-IVI.  M  She's  a  tiger  !  She'll  suck 
my  blood  !  "  lie  ga-ped.  ;-nd  tried  to  gi\e  utteranci-  to  one 
last  shriek  of  d.-xp air,  hm  it  died  i:i;.»  •  i'-m-e.  his  arm- 
dropped,  his  head  -aidx  \\ilh  a  jerk  upon  '.  -t,  and 
his  whole  form  collapsed.  Fear  had  Mruck  to  the  very 
seat  of  life,  and  once  more  he  had  fallen  into  a  -woon. 

"There  !"  cried  Angie,  in  that  tone  which  is  a  plain 
rebuke. 


' 

A     STEANGF     COMPACT.  355 

Hannah  heard  and  understood  it.  She  involuntarily 
retreated  a  little.  Angie  supplanted  her  at  the  head  of 
the  couch,  and  had  recourse  to  the  camphor  bottle. 

"  What's  the  matter  on  him?  is  he  dead?  or  is  it  only 
a  trick?"  asked  Hannah,  a  little  anxiously. 

"  He's  been  just  so  once  before,"  replied  Angie,  speak 
ing  loudly.  "  I  can  bring  him  to,  if  you'll  only  go  and 
sit  down. 

Hannah,  conscious  that  her  presence  was  injurious, 
and  might  be  fatal  to  the  man,  who  was  evidently  in  a 
most  feeble  condition,  hobbled  back  to  her  chair,  muttering, 
"  I'll  ventur  to  say  it's  only  a  trick  ;  he's  as  mad  as  a 
March  hare.  You  may  have  him  to  yourself,  an'  wel 
come  !  "  Her  ears  had  not  caught  the  burden  of  his 
expressions  of  alarm.  His  husky  language  was  unintel 
ligible  to  her,  else  her  suspicions  would  have  been 
aroused  concerning  him.  As  it  was,  she  only  realized 
that  she  was  some  how  repulsive  to  the  man,  and  she  felt 
that  sort  of  ill  humor  against  him  which  invalids  and 
children  naturally  excite  when  they  manifest  arbitrary 
dislikes. 

So  she  sat  down  with  her  back  obstinately  turned  on 
the  offenders  (she  felt  proportionately  provoked  with 
Angie,  of  course).  This  was  well;  Angie  improved 
her  opportunity,  and  soon  succeeded  in  first  restoring, 
then  calming,  her  patient.  He  looked  around  wildly, 
when  he  first  opened  his  eyes,  as  one  does  on  awaking 
from  a  horrible  dream.  She  made  haste  to  soothe  him 
with  the  words,  "She's  gone  —  gone  back  to  her  chair 


356  HA  r.v '/•/••/*   u  r 

by  tin-  tin-."  He  looked  over  hi-  ho-dder  timorously. 
.tinned,  in  a  >oft.  eomi'oriiiu  .  M  v  deaf, 

she  has  not  heard  a  \\ord;  >he  dfafl  QOf  >u-p'JVt  who 
you  are.  You  an-  safe  with  me;  I  won't  tell  h,-r." 

Each  of  these  little  phra- •-•-  ua-  a  «lro|>  of  balm  to  the 
irritated  ner\«>n-  >y-tem  ready  [<>  quake  at  e\ny  fresh 
fear.  Bly  htokcd  up  at  her  gratefully,  confidingly.  As 
she  finished  speaking  he  sought  her  hand,  as  children 
seek'a  hand  when  their  l'e«-t  tetter  Jn  >oin.-  ju-rilous  place. 
She  granted  him  this  pledge  of  protection,  and  knew,  as 
she  did  so.  that  her  power  over  him  —  Virtue's  power 
over  vi<v  —  was  culminating. 

••  She  rame  from  Sit-in's  Plains  to-day,"  said  Angii-, 
pointing  towards  Hannah,  wto  hear  your  confession. 

She  was  in  hopes  to  learn  who  was  guilty  of "Here 

Angie  falteivd.  ••  Tin-  murder  r"  continued  Nick-.  He 
did  not  shrink  from  the  word  as  much  as  -he  did.  "  \,  . 
—  hut  you  will  not  tell  ROW"  continued  Angie.  with 
eneriry.  "  At  least,  you  will  not  betray  him.  Confess 
to  God  and  to  man  what  you  have  d«>ne  your.-cli' — that 
is  right.  But,  O,  do  not  drag  his  name  before  CN.TV 
body;  do  not  have  him  hooted  at  in  his  grave,  poor 
fellow  !  There  can  be  no  need  of  that." 

He  was  .-tudymir  her  tare  with  a  >t range,  searching 
look.  lie  had  withdrawn  his  hand  the  moment  she 
began  thus  to  plead.  The  subject  c-t ranged  him  from 
her,  but  his  feature-  did  not  now  wear  a  \indicii.«- 
ex)Mv--i<.:i.  II,-  was  attentive  to  her  words,  and  she 
went  on. 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  357 

"  If  he  were  alive,  and  rich,  and  respected,  as  you 
were  thinking,  then  it  would  be  different,"  she  argued. 
"  Then  you  might  compare  your  lot  with  his,  and  think 
yours  crueller  and  harder.  But  to  betray  his  share  in 
the  crime  would  do  no  harm  to  him  now,  for  he  is  dead ; 
it  would  do  you  no  good,  for,"  —  she  could  not  add,  — 
"  for  you  are  dying,"  though  that  was  her  thought. 

Perhaps  he  read  her  thought ;  perhaps  he  only  ex 
pressed  his  own ;  at  any  rate,  he  rounded  the  assertion 
for  her  with  a  groan,  and  the  words,  u  There  ain't  enough 
o'  me  left  to  ballast  a  rope's  end  —  that's  a  fact." 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  will  do  you  good !  "  she  ex 
claimed. 

"What?"  asked  the  *now  humbled  and  submissive 
man,  speaking  in  the  plaintive  accents  of  a  sick  child. 

"  Pity,  forgiveness,  mercy  !  "  she  continued,  in  an  out 
burst  of  hope  and  fervor,  for  she  saw  how  she  had 
subdued  him  /mce  more  to  almost  infantile  docility,  and 
she  caught  at  the  chance  thus  afforded  her.  "  I  can't 
measure  your  sin  or  his,  or  how  far  each  dragged  the 
other  down.  God  knows  !  But  whatever  you  have 
against  him  it  will  ease  your  soul  to  forget  it  now,  and 
let  his  memory  rest  in  peace.  O,  think  how  soon  you 
may  come  yourself  to  judgment ;  think  how  many  sins 
you  have  got  to  answer  for  there  !  They  will  not  seem 
so  black,  I  know  they  will  not,  if  you  can  say,  '  I  spared 
a  man  that  was  dead,  and  pitied  an  old  woman  who  had 
not  long  to  live,  and  heard  the  prayer  of  a  girl  whose 
heart  was  broken.'  " 


3,58  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

The  sound  of  a  footstep  just  at  the  threshold  of  the 
door  startled  her  in  the  midst  of  her  supplication.  In 
stinctively,  like  OIK-  tamporini:  with  crime,  ami  fearing  to 
be  caught  in  the  act,  she  darted  away  from  tin-  vicinity 
(.1  lily,  and  with  her  face  to  the  opposite  wall,  fixed  her 
eyei  \acantly  on  the  plan  of  tin-  prison  which  hung 
there.  Ely,  too  old  a  counterfeiter  t<>  need  any  further 
hint,  drew  up  the  rug,  which  served  him  for  a  coverlet, 
and  pretended  to  be  asleep.  The  next  instant  Tracy,  the 
taut  jailer,  opened  the  door  and  looked  in.  He  cast 
his  eye  all  round  the  room  ;  Hannah  sat  staring  straight 
into  the  fire  ;  Angie  was  studying  prison  architecture  ; 
Ely  still  lay,  a  motionless  heap,  upon  the  settle.  Tracy 
was  satisfied  with  his  inspection.  It  was  all  right;  and 
he  went  out  to  receive  and  usher  in  other  guests  per 
haps, —  most  likely  the  lawyer  and  his  clerk,  —  for  foot 
steps  and  voices  could  be  heard  at  some  distance  down 
a  long  corridor,  and  one  of  the  city  dorks  had  jn^t 
Mrnek  ten. 

"  Hark !  they  are  coming,"  cried  Angie,  as  the  door 
closed  upon  Tracy  ;  and  turning,  she  sprang  again  to  the 
sick  man's  side. 

••\Yh.r  What?"  ho  timidly  wintered,  lilting  his 
head,  staring  wildly  around,  and  striving  once  more,  in 
a  ehildi-h  fashion,  to  link  his  hand  in  ln-rs  for  protection. 

"  The  people,  —  the  lawyer*,  —  the  jailor!  They  arc 
coming  to  hear  what  you  have  to  tell.  O,  don't  lell 
about  Inm — don't  !  "  —  and  flinirinLr  lu-rsrlf  on  her  knees 
and  wringing  her  hands  convulsively,  she  would  have 


A    STRANGE    COMPACT.  359 

poured  forth  further  entreaties,  but  her  voice  failed  her, 
and  they  were  all  merged  in  one  explosive  sob,  in  which 
the  pent-up  agony  of  years  seemed  to  vent  itself. 

The  soul  of  Nicholas  Bly  had  long  been  steeped  in  sin 
and  buried  beneath  a  heap  of  corruptions.  But  sunk  and 
imbruted  as  it  was,  there  was  one  power  never  before 
tried  upon  it,  —  the  power  of  a  holy  love  ;  and  that  sob 
of  Angie's  reached  it,  even  in  its  grave.  The  spark 
thus  kindled  revealed  itself  in  a  softer  light,  which 
gleamed  from  his  eye,  and  rested  on  her  with  some 
thing  like  compassion. 

Startled  by  the  sound  of  that  involuntary  sob  of  hers, 
Angie  had  turned  her  ear  with  a  spasmodic  gtart,  in  the  ' 
direction  of  the  approaching  footsteps,  one  eye  meanwhile 
scanning  the  figure  of  Hannah,  who  fortunately  con 
tinued  obstinately  unobservant.  As  her  glance  returned 
once  more  to  the  object  of  her  supplications,  she  read 
her  advantage  in  his  pitying  look  ;  and  forgetting  every 
thing  now  but  the  chance  of  effecting  her  purpose,  and 
binding  him  to  secrecy,  she  snatched  both  his  rough 
hands  in  hers,  and  pressed  them  fervently,  then  laying 
one  of  her  own  little  palms  on  his  clammy  forehead,  she 
exclaimed  in  an  ecstasy  of  gratitude,  "  God  bless  you  ! 
God  bless  you  !  " 

The  action  was  premature,  perhaps,  but  it  sealed  her 
victory. 

This  man  knew  nothing  of  God,  had  no  faith  in 
Heaven,  no  hope  of  the  divine  blessing  ;  but  this  woman's 
look,  her  touch,  her  benediction  had  fallen  on  him  like 


a  A  i  A  i  r.  i>  u  I.ARTS. 

refreshing  dew,  and  given  him  a  str;r  rever 

ence,  truM,  and  joy.  For  tin-  lir.M  time  in  hi-  life  this 
abject  man  looki-d  up.  this  duuhtin^  man  helir\«-d,  this 
blasplu-mmis  man  was  bli-*-i-d.  I'rmni.-rs.  waniiuir-s 
threat.-,  would  l)iil  ha\e  hardeiu-d  liim  tin-  more.  In  the 
Overflowing  of  a  grateful  heart  tin-  tide  of  human  love 
had  welled  up  and  reached  his  parched  soul  ;  the  blessing 
was  his  already  ;  he  could  atloid  to  pay  tin-  pri«-.-. 

So,  without  a  word's  bi-in.i:  .-jM»k«-u  i<»  that  rtfrrt,  aeon- 
tract  was  sealed  between  them.  There  was  no  time, 
indeed,  for  words;  a  hand  was  alivady  on  the  door-lock; 
Angie  had  barely  an  opportunity  to  glide  into  her  chair 
opposite  Hannah,  Bly  to  resume  his  .-K-cjiin-  attitude; 
but  as  she  ivtivatrd,  with  her  linger  on  her  lip,  there  was 
a  solemn  query  in  her  gesture  which  was  responded  to 
by  an  emphatic  dropping  of  the  eyelids  on  the  part  of 
Bly  that  seemed  to  promise  a  secrecy  as  eternal  as  the 
night. 

Then  ensued  a  change  of  scene.  The  jailer  caine 
hustling  in,  accompanied  by  a  lawyer  and  his  clerk; 
Tracy  and  Van  I^ausen  followed,  tin-  latt*  r  -i\i:iur 
emphasis  to  his  entrance  by  striking  the  floor  with  his 
\\oixl, MI  whip-handle  at  every  >tej»,  and  the  constable. 
previously  referred  to,  brought  up  the  rear,  dandling  a 
pair  of  iron  handcuffs,  and  displaying  a  professional 
indifference  to  their  use  by  an  attempt  to  wrring  music 
from  their  metal. 


OVERWHELMED    WITH   SUCCESS.  361 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

OVERWHELMED    WITH    SUCCESS. 

PROBABLY  the  jailer  had  mentioned  already  to  the 
attorney  that  beside  Van  Hausen  there  were  a  couple 
of  women  interested  in  the  prisoner's  confession,  and 
anxious  to  be  present  at  the  examination,  for  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  in  the  least  surprised  or  disturbed  at  their 
presence,  but  proceeded  at  once  to  business. 

"  Well,  jailer,"  said  he,  —  his  keen  eye,  which  had 
shot  rapidly  round  the  room,  fixed  professionally  on  Bly, 
who  was  its  sole  object  and  mark,  — "  how's  my  man 
this  morning?  Ready  and  hearty  I  hope,  for  we've  no 
time  to  lose  now.  you  know." 

Neither  the  look  nor  the  question,  though  both  were 
sharp,  and  equally  aimed  at  Bly,  served  to  rouse  him  in 
the  least.  The  jailer  stepped  forward,  as  he  said,  "  to 
stir  him  up  a  little."  The  lawyer  dragged  a  chair  near 
to  the  settle,  sat  down,  took  his  green  bag  from  the 
clerk's  hand,  and  depositing  it  between  his  feet,  searched 
among  his  red-taped  documents  for  the  necessary  memo 
randa, 

31 


UAU A  TLH    ///;.i  | 

••  "\Vliat  d*  yer  want  ?      Let  me  'lone':'  "  wa>  Illy'.- 

_!i    i'eeble    remonstrance  to    the   jailer's   peremptory 
.-hake  of  liis  .-boulder. 

i  <mie,  sit  up  man  !  you're  able  !     Here's  his  honor, 
bOCIiey,  waiting  to  hear  wliat  you've  got  to  say.     So 
be  spry,  now." 

A  sluggish  j*-rk  and  a  partial  nnclo.-ing  of  the  eyes 
were  all  the  reply  elicited  by  this  second  effort. 

The  jailer  growled,  muttered  an  oath,  and  tried  force, 
but  obstinacy  made  Nick  a  dead  weight. 

Here  the  lawyer,  who,  having  found  his  papers  in  tin- 
case  of  Government  rs.  Bullet  and  others,  was  ready  to 
proceed  to  action,  interfered  with,  "Stand  back,  jailer! 
let  him  alone,  as  he  says.  Bly  and  I  understand  Mcli 
other,"  —  and  on  the  strength  of  this  mutual  understand 
ing,  the  man  of  law,  who  prided  himself  on  knowing 
how  to  manage  a  witness,  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  settle 
as  confidently  as  a  family  physician  approaehe-  hi.-, 
patient. 

"  It  rests  on  you  and  me  pretty  much  to  get  the.-e  ras 
cals  hung,  Bly.  You're  ready  to  do  your  part,  — I  see 
that  in  your  eye." 

If  ever  there  was  an  eye  that  was  a  hopeless  negation 
to  the  lawyer's  assertion  it  was  Bly's  at  that  minute.  It 
!••« iked  nothing  but  dogged  indifference  and  scorn. 

11  I    mean    to   do   my  best,"  continued    tin-  wily  lawyer. 

k-  but    alter  all.   you'll  be  the  great    man  of  the  day,  Bly; 

and  a  great  day  it  will  be  it'  it   gees  th«--e  .-ea  — hark>  e«»u- 

;.      \o\\,    Bly.  let    me    know   exactly   what     I    may 

expect  from  you?" 


OVERWHELMED    WITH   SUCCESS.  363 

"  Expect  from  me  ! "  cried  the  prisoner,  raising  him 
self  on  his  elbow  with  the  same  suddenness  and  velocity 
which  had  startled  Angie,  and  which,  together  with  the 
roar  of  his  sepulchral  voice,  caused  the  lawyer  to  reel 
back  in  his  chair.  "  Nothing,  not  a  d — d  word.  I've 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  blab,"  —  and  with  a  terrible 
oath  he  shook  his  skeleton  fist  in  the  face  of  his  interrog 
ator,  consigned  himself  to  everlasting  perdition  if  he  broke 
one  iota  of  this,  his  final  vow,  and  then,  suffering  his  form 
to  collapse,  fell  back  into  the  same  rigid  posture  which 
he  had  previously  maintained. 

The  attorney,  dismayed  and  chagrined  at  this  unex 
pected  action  on  the  part  of  one  of  his  most  important 
witnesses,  tried  to  turn  it  off  as  a  jest.  "  Pho  !  pho  ! 
nonsense,  man  !  "  he  exclaimed,  feigning  an  assurance 
which  he  was  far  from  believing.  "  You  won't  desert  us 
so  at  the  last  minute,  I  know.  Why,  I'm  depending  on 
you  to  identify  these  rascals,  describe  their  vessel,  and 
testify  to  the  black  work  that  proved  what  colored  flag 
she  sailed  under.  That  story  of  the  Salem  brig  will  be 
our  great  card  in  this  part  of  the  evidence.  That  '11  tell 
immensely  with  the  crowd  and  the  jury.  Give  me  a  little 
idea  now  of  what  I  may  depend  on  you  to  testify,"  —  and 
he  glanced  at  his  memoranda,  —  u  eh?  come  !  "  encour 
agingly  ;  then,  in  a  tone  of  irritation,  u  speak,  man ! 
What's  the  matter  ?  Don't  you  hear  me  ?  " 

The  lawyer,  a  keen  observer  and  physiognomist, 
was  beginning  fo  realize  the  futility  of  his  words.  Ely 
evidently  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his  question.  It  was 


HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

doubtful  if  he  had  listened  to  a  syllabic  of  this  latter  ex 
hortation.  His  bleared  and  gla/ed  tjtt  were  fastened 
obstinately  on  the  plastered  wall  opposite  ;  his  thin  lips 
were  strained  together  ;  hi-  ti>ts  clinched,  not  in  pa.-.-ion, 
—  every  trace  of  that  had  vanished,  giving  place  to  a  rigid 
ity  of  muscle,  nerve,  and  will  :  a  species  of  moral  a-  \\«  1! 
us  physical  catalepsy,  against  which  there  was  no  appeal. 

The  lawyer  was  in.  a  quandary.  "  Look  here,  my 
friend," — with  a  sarcastic  emphasis  on  tin-  word  friend, — 
"what  does  this  mean?"  was  the  threatening  inquiry 
with  which  he  turned  upon  the  jailer.  "  The  case  for 
the  government  is  quashed,  for  aught  I  know,  if  this  man 
can't  be  persuaded  to  testify.  He  was  ready  enough  with 
his  evidence  a  week  ago.  I've  put  off  preparing  him  to 
appear  in  court  until  the  last  minute,  by  your  advice,  and 
now  —  well,  if  lie  can't  be  made  to  speak,  those  rascals 
may  get  clear  yet." 

The  jailer,  himself  greatly  disconcerted,  now  stepped 
forward  to  the  lawyer's  assistance  (for  he  had  withdrawn, 
as  became  him,  in  favor  of  the  learned  counsel,  and  had 
stood  leaning  against  the  high  desk).  The  two  held  a 
conference,  sotto  voce,  the  only  distinguishable  phrases 
of  which  were,  "Too  far  gone?  Been  so  before? 
What  do  you  make  of  it?" — and  the  replies,  "Can't 
.-ay,  >ir  :  don't  think  so  ;  "  and,  in  a  more  emphatic  tone, 
u  obstinacy,  sir;  obstinacy.  I'll  stake  my  life  on't  :  jn-t 
like  the  rogue." 

Doubt le>s  the  attorney  adopted  the  jailor's  version  of 
the  ca>e,  for  he  returned  to  the  charge  with  fresh  energy. 


OVERWHELMED    WITH  SUCCESS.  865 

The  jailer  stood  by,  and  now  and  then  added  to  the  per 
suasive  efforts  of  his  superior,  remonstrances  more  in  his 
own  line.  But  arguments,  promises,  and  threats  on  the 
one  part,  pushes,  nudges,  and  shoves  on  the  other,  ef 
fected  nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  The  subject  of  them 
was  fixed  as  a  corpse  ;  for  any  hope  of  their  moving  him, 
body  or  soul,  from  his  resolution,  he  might  as  well  have 
been  dead.  At  last,  they  turned  from  him  in  despair  and 
disgust,  as  they  would  have  turned  from  carrion. 

Then  the  lawyer  was  angry.  He  jerked  back  his 
chair,  scraping  it  hard  across  the  sanded  floor,  and  knit 
ting  his  brows,  muttered  something  about  treachery,  and 
a  suspicion  that  his  witness  had  been  tampered  with. 

But  he  did  not  suspect  any  body  there  present.  No,  in 
deed  ;  why  should  he  ?  Were  they  not  all  either  servants 

of  the  law,  or  parties   eagerly  interested  in  this  man's 

i 
confession  !      As  he   looked   at  his  watch   to  count  his 

"wasted  time,  and  folded  up  the  memoranda  of  important 
items  suddenly  struck  from  his  mass  of  evidence,  he 
set  his  teeth  and  shook  his  head  at  some  imaginary  indi 
vidual, —  the  opposite  counsel  perhaps,  —  and  seemed  to 
hint  that  at  his  earliest  leisure  this  matter  should  be 
sifted  and  the  treason  brought  to  light. 

Meanwhile  she,  the  guilty  one,  the  pale-faced  thing,  a 
mere  speaking-trumpet  to  the  old  woman,  a  creature  above 
suspicion,  or  beneath  it  rather,  what  of  her  ?  Leagued  as 
she  was  with  treachery,  darkness,  and  guilt,  why  did  not 
the  very  prison  walls  fall  upon  and  crush  her?  She,  her 
self,  wondered  why.  Her  own  success  overawed  and 
31* 


366  //••«  i  -N  'i  >-l>  ni.  ARTS. 

terrified    her.      So  >tupendou<  WBM   it  as  to  partake  of  the 

nature    of  a    failure.      Kvideiitly    thi.>   poor    \\ivek    of  hu- 

inanitv,  with  whom  she  liail  been  tampermj.  had  lo>t  his 

:•  in  dix-riminate.       De-pair  and    ignorance  rush  into 

meft,      I1'"!-  liim    it    mu.-t  be  either  tin-  .-unlight  of  a 

clean  breast  <»r  utti-r darknan  and  oUivioa  of  tlui  j>a>u  and 

unconsciously  .-In-  had  ])lcdp-d  him  totlu-  latter  altrrnaliN  ••. 

She  ha<l  striven  merely  tu  ~a\«-  a  d«-a«l  man's  repu 
tation,  and  had  thereby  defeated  the  ends  of  justice,  set 
herself  in  opposition  to  government  and  the  law,  pro 
tected  a  nest  of  villain-,  allied  herself  to  robbery,  piracy, 
and  every  form  of  \  ie.  .  AY  as  it  her  wiekednr-s  or  her 
late  that  forever  eoiidemned  her  to  be  thus  allied?  Both 
.-he  believed,  and  believing,  shuddered. 

Benumbed  and  bewildered  by  what  >he  had  done,  pct- 
riii.-d  like  one  in  a  ni^lumarc  of  dread,  she  could  not 
ha\e  moved  or  spoken  if  she  would;  it  is  doubtful 
whether  >lu-  would  have  if  she  could,  for  her  sense  of 
triumph  was  greater  after  all  than  her  terror;  she  had 
courted  silence  and  secrecy  as  God's  best  iritis  for  \ 
they  were  hers  to  excess  now.  but  they  were  hers  ;  how 
ronld  she  sacrifice  them?  However,  you  and  I  need  not 
di>en<s  the  merits  of  the  case,  for  she  did  not.  She  had 
little  responsibility  in  the  matter.  She  had  a  vague  sense 
of  having,  by  mi-take,  .-old  ln-;--elf  to  the  prii!" 
darkness;  but  if  so,  the  eri  is  \\a-  pa.-t  :  he  held  her 
fast,  body  and  .-oul.  for  that  moment  at  lea-t,  and  t!,e 
next  tin-  opportunity  was  gone.  I1.  -he  could  >hake 

o:T  the  >pell  that  bound  he]-,  the  lawyer  and  his  rlerk  had 


OVERWHELMED    WITH   SUCCESS.  367 

hurried  away,  the  constable  had  laid  down  the  handcuffs 
(it  was  not  just  here  or  now  that  he  had  occasion  for 
their  use),  and  was  concerting  with  the  jailer  as  to  the 
disposition  to  be  made  of  Ely.  Van  Hausen,  in  a  gritty, 
dogged  humor,  was  moving  towards  the  door,  and  with 
his  whip-handle  was  gesticulating  to  the  women  to  follow 
him.  Angie  neither  noticed  nor  obeyed,  but  her  abstrac 
tion  was  covered  by  the  more  marked  obduracy  of  Han 
nah,  who,  puzzled  and  indignant  at  a  series  of  proceed 
ings  which  she  had  not  been  able  in  the  least  to  compre 
hend,  positively  refused  to  budge,  jerking  herself  free  from 
Van  Hausen,  who,  finding  his  gestures  unavailing,  had 
proceeded  to  give  a  more  emphatic  hint  by  twitching  at 
her  cloak,  and  avowing  her  intention  of  remaining  until 
they  were  ready  to  take  the  evidence,  if  it  were  until 
to-morrow  morning. 

11  But  there  ain't  no  evidence  to  take,  I  tell  yer, 
woman,"  bellowed  Van  Hausen.  "He  won't  testify  — 
so  there  's  an  end  on't." 

"He!  who?" 

Dick  pointed  significantly  at  Ely,  who  was  now  pas 
sively  submitting  to  be  led  off. 

"  What !  that  varmint,"  exclaimed  Hannah,  in  a  high, 
cracked  key,  rendered  more  than  ever  shrill  by  her  ris 
ing  rage.  "  Now,  don't  tell  me  we've  come  all  this 
way  to  see  what  we  could  rake  out  o'  that  heap  o'  rub 
bish?" 

Dick  intimated  by  a  nod  that  such  was  the  fact,  at  the 
same  time  urging  her  towards  the  door,  partly  by  force, 


3G«  UAL.\JLh    HEAKTS. 

partly  by  assailing  her  car  wit!.,  -  Come  along; 

yer    MV    \\eVe    in    the    way?  —  they  don't   want    to    be 

bothered   with   u>." 

Dick  was  essentially  a  modest  mail,  fearful  above  all 
things  of  being  an  intruder;  and  it  VfM  QMJ  to  see  now 
that  lily  was  quietly  submitting  to  tin-  process  of  re- 
ino\al  to  hi.-  cell,  that  tin-  jailer  only  awaited  tin-  de 
parture  of  Van  JIauseu  and  his  companions  to  shut  up 
tin-  private  room  and  be  off  too.  He  was  already  lock 
ing  up  his  desk  and  quenching  the  embers  on  the  hearth 
with  the  water  that  remained  in  the  dipper. 

Hannah,  as  shar  p->ightcd  M  riM  was  deaf,  finally  took 
these  hints  at  a  dismissal,  and  hobbled  towards  the  door, 
muttering  audibly,  "1  do  vum !  if  men  ain't  fools  — 
the  idee  of  cxpectin'  to  get  any  thing  reasonable  out 
o'  them  leavins*  of  a  man.  Why,  he's  all  but  dead, 
and  as  cra/y  as  a  coot  inter  the  bargain.  The  id«v 
ou't !  Why,  V.T  must  be  about  as  cracked  in  yer  wits 
as  he  is,  all  on  yer !  " 

Angic  followed  mechanically.  They  went  out  by  the 
door  at  which  they  had  entered.  At  the  same  iu.-tant  lily. 
supported  by  Tracy  and  the  constable,  was  carried  oil' 
in  the  opposite  direction.  Augie  had  a  conscion.-iu — 
amounting  to  certainly,  —  that  consciousness  which  OQOMfl 
by  faith  not  by  sight, —  that  lily  \va.*»  lo..king  back  in 
the  hope  to  win  a  glance,  a  grateful  glance,  perhaps, 
from  her.  lint  >he  dared  not  meet  his  eye.  Sin-  tell  that 
she  .-hould  In-tray  her.-elf.  So.  with  a  fixed  ga/.e  and 
a  self-reproachful  heart  for  thi-  too,  she  turned  her  back 


OVERWHELMED    WITH   SUCCESS.  809 

upon  the  poor  wretch,  who,  faithful  but  unthanked  even 
by  a  look,  was  carried  to  his  cell,  while  she,  free  and 
uncoudemned,  but  scarcely  less  a  culprit  in  her  own 
estimation,  went  her  way  unchallenged. 

Whither  ?  Ah  !  that  was  the  question.  Van  Hausen, 
disappointed  of  the  object  for  which  they  had  come,  and 
with  two  women  on  his  hands,  was  sadly  at  a  loss.  He 
could  dispose  of  himself  and  his  own  time  in  a  dozen 
ways  until  his  horse  was  sufficiently  refreshed  for  the 
return  drive  to  Stein's  Plains.  But  the  women  folks  ! 
what  should  he  do  with  them? 

This  problem  was  rendered  more  difficult  of  solution 
from  Hannah's  vituperative  state  of  mind,  and  the  va 
cant,  terrified  expression  of  Angie's  face.  Dick  had 
ordinarily  more  confidence  in  Angie's  ability  and  dis 
cretion  than  his  manner  to  her  implied  ;  but  now,  as  he 
said  to  himself,  she  looked  and  behaved  like  a  cat  in 
a  strange  garret,  and  she  and  the  old  woman  seemed 
equally  unfitted  to  take  care  of  themselves  or  each 
other. 

Hannah,  who  had  stopped  short  in  the  stone  corridor 
between  the  rows  of  cells,  was  still  shaking  her  head  and 
her  forefinger  in  attestation  of  her  plainly-expressed  opin 
ion  regarding  the  folly  of  all  who  had  lured  her  hither 
"on  such  a  fool's  arrant ;  "  Van  Hausen,  considerably  in 
advance,  and  impatiently  lingering  until  she  and  Angie 
should  come  up,  was  apparently  taking  counsel  of  his 
whip-handle,  the  end  of  which  he  rubbed  slowly  up  and 
down  his  chin,  when  the  constable,  returning  from  doing 


.(),7H  IT  A  i    \  /'/  /'    ///'  i 

BSOOrl  <luty  to  Bly,  came  Lack  tlmm-h  tin-  jailer's  room, 
and  overtook  our  party  in  the  l<n,_  -\\.iy.  I  In  hnd 

iv-mned  \\\<  strinir  of  handcuff's,  and  walked  briskly.  1mm- 
niin^  :i  tune  and  kt-cjiin-j  time  with  his  uncouth  eymhaN. 
Altogether  his  presence  impartial  life  and  spirit  to  the 
irriiu  old  jtrison  corridor  ;  and  then-  was  soincthiiiLT  \  '-ry 
cordial  :is  well  a-  jiatroni/in^  in  the  way  with  whicli 
In-  l>rok,-  <iil'  in  his  tune  to  say  to  An-ic,  as  he  ]>:: 
"  Sorry  for  the  old  woman's  disappintment,  miss,  an' 
yourn  ;  that  'ere  testimony  turned  out  a  plaguy  sham  — 
that's  a  fact.  Now  we're  goin'  to  work  in  earnest," 
he  continued,  as,  passing  the  women,  he  came  up  with 
Van  Hausen,  and  dandled  the  handcuffs  with  profes 
sional  pride.  "  Tlu-m  bracelets  are  the  thing  for  dandy 
customers,  such  as  I've  got  to  deal  with  now."  "Bran 
new  they  are,  the  beauties  !  "  and  the  constable  selected 
one  for  inspection.  "  They're  a  pretty  set  o'  hands  that 
these  were  made  for !  —  a  desp'rate  gang,  sir,  now  I 
tell  yer." 

Dick  condescended  to  bestow  a  superficial  examination 
on  the  irons,  but  they  did  not  interest  him  particularly; 
they  were  not  in  the  old  carpenter's  line  of  business. 
"  Hard  set,  I  s'pose,"  he  muttered,  not  meaning  tin- 
irons,  but  their  destined  wearers. 

"I  should  think   they   vn  'led  the  constable. 

••  Tli«-v  on-lit  to  swinir  now.  if  there's  justice  in  the 
land.  T>ad  bu-i:ic--  that  'ere  te-timnnyV  lix/lin'  out  >o 
jn-t  a-  the  trial's  c(jiniiiir  on.  The  attorney's  rnn-id- 
erably  used  up,  most  as  much  as  your  old  woman 


OVERWHELMED     WITH   SUCCESS.  371 

there.  And  well  he  may  be.  The  country  has  its  eye 
on  him,  sir.  He's  bound  to  get  them  fellers  hung,  and 
he  knows  it." 

"Pirates,  eh?" 

"  Yes  !  real  black  murderin'  set !  Pests  o'  commerce  ! 
dread  of  every  blue-jacket  that  has  shipped  for  the  Indies 
this  five  year  !  Been  waiting  trial  six  weeks  and  more  ! 
Coming  on  't  half  past  ten  o'clock  —  extra  session  —  su 
preme  court  —  sits  in  the  United  States  court-room,  New 
City  Hall.  You'll  be  there,  sir,  of  course." 

The  constable  rattled  off  these  items  exultantly. 

Van  Hausen  hesitated,  and  scratched  his  head  with  the 
whip-handle  by  way  of  clearing  up  his  ideas.  The  tone, 
even  more  than  the  words  of  the  constable,  was  suggest 
ive  of  the  fact  that  this  great  trial,  on  which  the  eyes  of 
the  whole  country  were  fixed,  was  the  only  thing  in  New 
York  worth  attending,  for  that  day,  at  least.  But  then 
the  women,  —  and  Dick  gave  an  uneasy  glance  in  their 
direction.  What  to  do  with  them?  that  was  the  question 
uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  old  bachelor,  who,  to-day, 
almost  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  saddled  with 
female  incumbrances. 

But  it  was  no  longer  an  open  question.  The  con 
stable's  voice  had  a  clear  ring  to  it,  and  had  gone  echoing 
down  the  corridor.  The  words  "desperate  gang,"  — 
"court  —  trial,"  —  and  that  one  syllable  which  signified 
the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law,  had  reached  and  charmed 
the  ear  of  Hannah.  They  chimed  in  with  the  prevalent 
notion  of  her  mind,  especially  at  this  moment,  and 


372  }{AI  .\II:D  U 

acted  on  her  like  an  inspiration.  It  was  with  nn 
Amazonian  .-tride,  in  plan-  <•!'  her  Imhlilin^  irait,  that 
she  now  ad\amvd  down  the  corridor.  "The  court's 
assembling  is  it?"  she  asked  with  eagerness  of  the  con 
stable  ;  "then  it's  time  I  was  there."  "Go  on  man," 
to  Dick  ;  "  we  're  comin' !  " 

In  vain  Dick  protested,  both  by  word  and  sign.  In 
vain  lie  pulled  at  her  cloak,  —  this  time  to  hold  her 
ba.-k,  —  and  cursed  the  whole  female  sex  under  his 
breath.  Even  the  constable,  pitying  her  error,  took 
pains  to  inform  her,  with  a  shout,  that  thi>  0AM  had 
nothing  to  do  with  her  allair  ;  that  it  could  throw  no 
light  on  her  husband's  murder  ;  that  it  related  to  crime 
committed  at  sea,  &c.  But  Hannah  was  deaf  now, 
incorrigibly  deaf.  She  had  her  own  ideas,  her  own 
vague  instincts  in  the  matter,  and  she  was  resolute.  To 
court  she  would  go.  Had  she  not  come  to  the  city  for 
that  very  purpose?  AVhat  matter  whose  cose  it  was? 
"Was  there  not  testimony  to  be  given  in,  and  bad  deeds 
to  be  brought  to  light,  and  wicked  men  to  be  judged  ! 
Who  knew  what  might  come  of  it  ? 

That  Hannah  really  expected  or  hoped  that  any  thing 
would  come  of  it  was  scarcely  probable,  for  she  was 
too  keen  in  her  faculties,  despite  her  deafness  and  her 
years,  to  be  easily  self-deceived.  But  at  all  events  the 
prospect  of  witnessing  a  trial,  —  somebody's  trial,  —  was 
irresistible.  It  was  the  sifting  out  of  crime  ;  the  con 
demning  of  the  guilty;  —  it  had  a  fascination  for  Hannah, 
and  sh»-  was  re>ol\ed  to  -p.-nd  her  day  in  a  manner,  at 
lea~t,  nkin  to  the  original  intention. 


OVERWHELMED     WITH    SUCCESS.  373 

Such  was  the  greatness  and  fixedness  of  this  resolve 
as  to  reduce  her  companions  to  mere  ciphers.  The 
constable  was  immeasurably  tickled  at  the  force  of  the 
old  woman's  will,  now  that  it  was  fairly  roused.  He 
laughed  heartily,  exclaiming  between  whiles,  "  Come 
on,  then!  Sorry  I  can't  go  and  escort  you,  —  there's 
nothin'  I  should  be  prouder  on,  but  I  've  got  a  part  to 
perform  in  the  c  play,' "  —  and  he  shook  his  handcuffs 
significantly.  "  Howsomever,  I'll  look  out  for  you  in 
the  court-room,"  he  condescendingly  whispered  to  Angie. 
"  Which  way?"  (in  reply  to  an  imperative  query  from 
Hannah).  "  O,  you'll  find  it  easy  enough;  you've 
only  to  follow  the  crowd." 

They  had  threaded  the  passage-way  and  staircase, 
and  reached  the  prison  door,  as  he  said  this. 

A  few  individuals,  hastening  along  the  street  outside, 
constituted  that  portion  of  the  crowd  which  he  motioned 
to  Hannah  to  follow ;  and  pressing  as  his  business  was, 
he  could  not  resist  pausing  an  instant  to  indulge  one 
more  hearty  laugh  at  sight  of  the  old  woman  striding 
vigorously  forward,  in  the  effort  to  keep  up  with  her 
leaders,  and  dragging  the  trembling,  reluctant  Angie 
along,  rather  than  leaning  on  her  for  support. 

As  for  Van    Hausen,    victim   of  his    sister's   valiant 
assertion  of  woman's  rights,  there  was  nothing  left  for 
him  but  to  enlist  meekly  under  her  colors,  and  to  follow 
her  lead,  as  she  followed  that  of  the  crowd. 
32 


.".7  1  //  i  /    \  /  WD    n i    i  KTS. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

A   CONTENTION    FOR    PLACES. 

THE  trial  of  a  gang  of  notorious  pirates  would  prove 
an  eventful  circumstance,  in  any  seaport  city  of  the  Old 
«.r  New  World.  From  the  merchant  whose  rich  cargoes 
have  MiU'ered,  or  may  chance  to  suffer,  from  their  depre 
dations,  to  the  poorest  man  or  woman  whose  son  has 
shipped  as  cabin-boy,  all  have  an  interest  in  the  appre 
hension  and  conviction  of  ruiVian  lionfes,  whose  cruelties 
wear  a  deeper  aspect  of  horror  from  hein^  added  to 
the  other  perils  of  the  deep,  and  whoso  remorselcssness 
in  the  execution  of  their  barbarities  has  made  their 
very  name  synonymous  with  crimes  of  the  darkest  dye. 

At  the  time  of  the  arrest  of  Bullet  and  his  i^an-j  this 
sentiment  was  rife  in  the  community,  and  national 
invective  was  hurled  with  peculiar  bitterne---  at  this 
species  of  malefactors.  Our  late  war  with  Kn^land, 
.itiuir.  a<  il  did,  in  wrongs  committed  at  >ea,  and 
foil -Jit  out.  for  the  mo-t  part,  on  that  element,  had  con 
centrated  public  attention  on  the  protection  of  our 
commerce  and  marine,  and  scarcely  was  that  contest 


A    CONTENTION    FOR    PLACES.  375 

brought  to  a  successful  issue  when  we  were  forced  into 

O 

a  hand-to-hand  struggle  with  Algiers,  whose  piracies 
had  rendered  her  the  scourge  of  Europe  no  less  than 
of  our  own  country.  The  courage  and  gallantry  of 
Decatur,  the  glorious  martyrdom  of  Soraers  and  his 
sacrificial  band,  these,  and  other  deeds  of  daring  and 
heroism,  had  chained  the  dastardly  tyrant  of  the  Medi 
terranean,  and  given  our  infant  navy  her  earliest  title 
to  a  nation's  praise,  —  a  foretaste  of  the  future  triumphs 
which  now  fill  her  sails,  as  she  sweeps  on  in  the  march 
of  freedom  ;  praise  which  has  swelled  into  a  hymn  of 
thanksgiving  as  we  feel  how,  in  this  our  day  of  trial, 
she  girds  us  with  her  strength. 

But  piracy  was  rampant  in  those  days  ;  and  though 
the  Mediterranean  no  longer  levied  black  mail  on  the 
nations  of  the  earth,  plunderers  still  infested  our  western 
waters,  and  no  vessel  had  as  yet  a  safe  passport  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Caribbean  Sea  or  the  Great  Gulf. 
Voyages  to  the  West  Indies  were  precarious  to  life  as 
well  as  cargo,  and  merchants  sending  ships  thither  were 
compelled  to  balance  the  probability  of  gain  against  the 
possible  loss  of  vessels,  merchandise,  and  crew. 

Among  the  unenviable  reputations  achieved  by  these 
sea  marauders,  none  had  attained  so  terrible  a  notoriety  as 
that  of  Bullet,  or  the  Black  Bull  of  the  Indies.  This  man's 
craftiness  and  rapacity  as  a  freebooter,  the  autocratic 
tyranny  with  which  he  lorded  it  over  his  crew,  and  the 
cold-blooded  cruelties  practised  by  him  on  his  victims, 
had  made  his  name  a  watchword  of  warning  and 


B A  r.N  1  /  l>    HKARTS. 

terror.  Various  authorized  avengers  of  the  public,  1'ollow- 
.    liis    track    of  MIMM!   ami   crime,    had    pursued  his 
f:i.-t-sailin_  id    made  every  etV.Tt    tor   her  capture, 

hut  to  110  purpose.  So  mysteriously  did  she  sometimes 
et!ect  her  escape,  now  favored  by  darkness,  now  by  fog, 
and  now  by  some  light  breeze,  which  seemed  conjured 
up  purposely  to  till  her  sails,  that  among  superstitious 
seafarers  mystery  was  added  to  her  other  attributes, 
and  she  was  hulf-b«  li<  \vl  to  be  a  phantom  ship,  only 
becoming  a  real  monster  at  the  moment  of  grappling 
with  her  prize.  Even  sober-minded  individuals  were 
.-red  by  reports  of  the  audacity  with  which  she 
pursued  her  prey,  sometimes  doubling  on  her  own  track, 
and  crouching,  tiger-like,  at  the  very  post  lately  held  by 
Lr"\i •riuiieiit  .-entries,  from  whom  she  had  lied  twenty-four 
hours  before  ;  —  yesterday,  a  fugitive  ;  to-day,  a  destroyer. 
Proportionate,  therefore,  to  the  alarm  she  had  created 
and  the  evil  she  had  accomplished,  were  the  pride  and 
?at  inaction  that  prevailed  among  the  citizens  of  our 
mercantile  metropolis,  when  her  career  was  suddenly 
checked,  and  that,  too,  not  by  the  official  arm  of  the 
naval  service,  but  by  the  gallantry  of  our  commercial 
marine.  Many  American  vessels  had  then  recently  been 
engaged  in  privateering  against  England  ;  even  merchant- 
had  been  taught  a  lesson  of  self-protection,  and  mo-t 
of  our  vessels  could  boast  of  a  few  gun?  and  boarding 
imph  well  as  some  slight  skill  in  their  u-r.  It 

w^a  such    an    armament,   consisting  of  an    cnterpri-ing 
American    captain,    and    his    crew   of  not    more  than   a 


/ 


A  CONTENTION  FOR  PLACES.       877 

dozen  men,  which  had  succeeded  in  bringing  the  Black 
Bull  of  the  Indies  to  bay,  and  effecting  the  capture  of  the 
piratical  vessel  and  its  ruffianly  owners.  The  gallant 
little  merchantman,  being  bound  on  a  circuitous  voyage, 
had  proceeded  at  once  to  our  nearest  naval  station,  and 
transferred  her  prisoners  to  an  American  frigate,  by 
which,  under  government  auspices,  they  had  been 
brought  to  New  York  for  trial.  The  public  sense  of 
justice,  amounting  to  an  enthusiasm  of  abhorrence,  had 
marked  the  reception  of  these  felons  on  their  arrival  and 
introduction  to  the  city  prison.  This  sentiment  had 
either  palled  or  been  superseded  by  the  every-day 
emotions  of  society  during  the  few  months  that  they 
had  been  hid  from  the  sight  and  knowledge  of  the  com 
munity  awaiting  trial,  but  it  was  roused  into  fresh 
vigor  as  the  time  approached  which  was  to  seal  their 
fate  ; — triumph  in  their  apprehension,  curiosity  as  to  their 
persons,  and  exciting  rumors  of  the  evidence  against 
them,  combined  with  hatred  of  their  dark  trade,  in 
rendering  them  objects  of  universal  discussion  and 
interest,  so  that  the  constable,  who  had  recommended  to 
Van  Hausen  to  attend  the  trial,  was  justified  by  fact, 
when  he  said  of  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  that  the 
country  had  its  eye  on  him. 

The  sentiment  of  interest  being  thus  universal,  it 
naturally  sent  up  to  the  trial  representatives  of  all  ranks 
in  society.  The  solid  men  of  the  city,  especially  those 
directly  engaged  in  commercial  enterprises,  thought  it 
becoming  in  them  to  stimulate  justice,  and  countenance 
32* 


378  BAV*  7T/'    HEARTS. 

ihe  law  hv  their  pre-eiice  MM  thi<  oeea-ion.  Aristocratic 
ladle-  (Mini  New  York  li:\«l  thru  a  far  more  -elect  aristoe- 
racv  than  in  the-e  da\-)  neatly  veiled  their  curio>iiy 
to  sec  Bullet,  that  chief  among  villains,  beneath  the  lau 
dable  ambition  to  hear  the  arguments  of  mun^.-l  in  to  <tir- 
riug  a  case.  Our  sharp  attorney  (»n  tin-  side  of  tin-  ; 
cut  ion,  though  a  noted  sifter  of  evidence,  and  a  zealot  in 
defence  of  tin-  law.  vrai  Lett  ^ilu-d  in  arirunuMit  than  some 
of  his  brethren  at  tin-  bar,  but  in  consideration  of  the 
importance  of  the  case  government  had  strengthened 

by  securing  the  services  of  a  veteran  counsellor, 
the  superiority  of  whose  logical  and  j»i-rsua>ive  power 
was  unquestioned. 

Trump,  the  great  legal  orator,  had  been  retained  for 
the  prisoner,  at  an  enormous  fee,  it  was  whispered,  and 
with  the  certainty  of  fabulous  sums  as  the  price  of 
acquittal,  for  who  knew  (to such  a  height  did  rumor  run) 
what  wealth,  the  spoils  of  many  nations,  these  robl>.T< 
mii'lit  have  hid  away  in  their  island  caves?  The  felon, 
liullet,  his  innocence  but  proved,  might  set  him-elf  up  as 
a  Monte  Christo !  It  was  a  case  that  called  for  all 
Trump's  powers,  and  more.  lie  would  exhaust  the 
superb  armorv  of  his  LTeat  brain,  and  Mun  the  jury  with 
hi*  eloquence.  The  bi;r-pauurln-d  yellow  coaches,  with 
Knickerbocker  arms  on  their  panels,  miirht  honorably 
impede  the  halls  of  ju-tice  to-day,  when  such  intellectual 

were  iii  preparation  there. 

crimes   electrit'v    humanity.       Thev    upheave 
oeial    strata,  so   that    extremes   meet.     The    same 


A    CONTENTION    FOP    PLACES.  379 

exaggerated  reports  of  the  Black  Bull,  ^lis  deeds  and  his 
accomplices,  which,  echoing  and  reverberating  through 
the  land,  had  reached  the  pinnacles  of  fashion,  had  also 
stirred  the  human  dregs,  and  caused  them  to  rise  to  the 
surface.  New  York  -neither  reared  nor  imported  then 
so  many  desperadoes  and  Jezebels  as  at  the  present  day, 
but  she  had  her  skiilking-holes  of  crime,  and  her  sinks  of 
infamy,  which  belched  forth  boastful  villains,  drunk  with 
the  craving  to  look  upon  the  hero  in  guilt,  whose  noto 
riety  they  emulated  ;  and  penitent  and  degraded  outcasts, 
who  instinctively  flocked  to  the  altar-fire  of  sin  and  igno 
miny,  as  moths  to  the  candle,  in  which  their  poor  wings 
have  been  singed  already.  Honesty  and  industry,  the 
great  mediocrity  of  popular  character  and  sentiment, 
justly  set  against  crime  and  its  perpetrators,  formed  the 
basis  of  the  representation  this  day  ;  but  the  most  charac 
teristic  feature  of  the  assembly  was  the  ruthlessness  with 
which  thieves  and  vagabonds  elboAved  the  magnates  of 
the  land,  and  the  assurance  with  which  fallen  women,  be 
daubed  or  begrimed,  strove  with  the  plumed  and  perfumed 
daughters  of  the  aristocracy  for  precedence  and  place. 

The  locality  in  which  the  court  held  its  sittings  gave 
added  interest  and  attractiveness  to  the  occasion.  The 
New  City  Hall  (for  it  was  then  recently  finished)  was 
deservedly  a  subject  of  pride  to  the  citizens,  and  the  dig 
nity  of  the  building  gave  encouragement  to  the  presence 
of  citizens,  and  especially  of  ladies,  who  would  have 
shrunk  from  ordinary  court-rooms,  while  its  central  and 
conspicuous  position,  and  the  prospect  of  gaining  free 


3.SH  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

admi  — ion  !••  it-  wall-,  .-welled  tin-  crowd  with  idler-. 
Admi.-oion  witliin  the  exterior  walls  of  the  building 
\\a-.  for  the  majority  of  tin-  throng,  the  most  that 
could  be  hoped,  however.  The  court-room  was  mani- 
fe.-tly  too  limited  ill  its  proportions  to  admit  more  than  a 
fraction  of  the  crowd  ;  standing  room  in  the  halls,  or  cor 
ridors  leading  thither,  was  even  a  matter  of  chance  :  and 
in  spite  of  the  cold,  no  small  part  of  the  attendant-  on 
tin-  trial  were  obliged  to  content  themselves  with  scaling 
tin  windows  for  a  peep  inside,  hanging  round  the  door- 
irajl  in  anticipation  of  .-tray  reports  of  what  was  tran 
spiring  within,  or  gathering  in  knots  within  tin-  Park 
ana.  threshing  their  arms  to  keep  their  Mood  from 
free/ing,  and  compensating  themselves  for  the  disadvan- 
>f  enjoying  only  outside  place-  by  the  freedom  with 
which  they  indulged  in  groans  and  howls  for  the  pris 
oners,  and  invitations  to  them  to  come  out  and  be  eaten, 
trampled  on.  or  even  take  their  chance  of  a  land  light, 
man  to  man. 

These,  and  similar  demonstrations  of  excitement,  did 
not  reach  their  height  until  near  the  close  of  the  day,  and 
when  the  vehemence  of  the  populace  had  increased  with 
the  progress  of  the  trial.  AVhen  Hannah  Kawle  and  In  r 
companions  entered  the  Park,  it^as  comparatively  early. 
and  the  passions  of  the  rabble  at  the  outp«>-t>  had  not 
been  inflanu-d  by  expectancy  and  delay.  Already,  how 
ever,  there  was  striking  e\  idence  of  the  intere-t  that 
linnir  upon  the  trial.  Straggling  processioofl  of  people 
were  entering  th«'  Park  from  every  direction,  and  con- 


A    CONTENTION   FOR   PLACES.  381 

verging  towards  the  City  Hall.  Apparently  it  was  filled 
to  overflowing,  for  the  front  steps  were  crowded,  and 
window  and  door  places  began  to  be  in  request.  But 
Hannah,  undeterred  by  this  discouragement,  kept  reso 
lutely  on  her  way.  Her  deaf  ears  were  undisturbed  by 
the  clamors  and  disputes  of  the  multitude,  with  whom 
she  was  immediately  involved ;  her  broad  shoulders 
seemed  insensible  to  the  press  and  conflict  with  numbers. 
So  wholly  was  her  stern  mind  preoccupied  by  her  pur 
pose  in  coming  hither,  that  even  if  she  could  have  dis 
tinguished  the  hootiiigs  of  the  boys,  who  assailed  her 
from  the  fences,  tops  of  lamp-posts,  and  other  "  coignes 
of  vantage,"  she  would  have  responded  to  them  only  by 
indifference  and  contempt.  As  it  was,  there  was  a  cer 
tain  imposing  grandeur  in  the  way  with  which  the  old 
woman  threw  back  her  head  and  strode  through  the 
crowd  towards  her  object,  as  if  her  purpose  were  suffi 
cient  passport.  Perhaps  it  was  this  air  of  resolution, 
even  more  than  her  years,  or  her  rustic  dress,  which  at 
once  marked  her  for  the  boys'  notice,  and  caused  her  to 
be  hailed  with  the  saucy  salutation,  "  Walk  up,  granny ! 
Make  way  for  the  old  wolf-skin  !  "  —  (the  latter  being  an 
allusion  to  her  voluminous  yellow  sables).  "  Don't  wait 
outside  there,  I  beg  on  yer.  Yer  might  ketch  cold. 
Plenty  o'  room  ;  walk  in,  marm,  an'  take  a  seat." 

Apparently  she  took  them  at  their  word,  for  not  until 
she  was  half  way  up  the  front  steps  did  she  falter  and 
come  to  a  stand-still,  firmly  wedged  in  with  the  crowd. 
Angie  was  just  behind  her,  one  step  lower  down,  pant- 


588  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

ing  and  breathle--,  less  from  her  rapid  walk  and  -t  nig 
gle  witli  the  press  than  from  the  agitations  of  her  In-art 
and  brain.  Unlike  Hannah,  .-he  c: \perienced  a  momen 
tary  relief  in  tin-  cheek  put  upon  their  progress.  Nhe 
would  have  been  only  too  glad  if  it  could  have  been 
balked  altogether.  With  what  face  could  she  wit- 
Q6M  a  trial,  the  very  purpose  of  which  .-he  had  been 
doing  her  best  to  defeat?  How  dared  she  set  her  lout 
within,  walls  sacred  to  that  justice  with  which  .-he  had 
tampered?  She  would  have  preferred  to  stand  all  day 
a  humble  waiter  at  the  thrc.-hold. 

They  were  by  this  time  a  little  separated  from  Van 
Hau.-en,  who,  usually  bold  as  a  lion  in  pushing  his  way 
uiiioiiu"  hi.-  compeer>,  was,  as  I  have  .-aid.  but  a  reluctant 
and  .-heepi.-h  attendant  on  women,  and  had.  therefore, 
suffered  several  ranks  of  people  to  intervene  bet \\eeii 
him.-elf  and  them.  Otherwise  he  would  have  taken 
aihantage,  even  now,  of  the  fresh  arguments  that  olfeivd 
themselves,  and  endeavored  to  persuade  Hannah  to  aban 
don  her  object.  One  needed  only  to  look  at  her  face  to 
see  how  vain  such  efforts  would  have  been.  Watchful 
ness,  combined  with  indomitable  patience,  made  up  its 
expression,  and  proved  the  force  of  her  iv.-olution. 

Fortune  is  the  friend  of  a  strou.ir  will,  and  fortune  be- 
friendrd  Hannah.  She.  Fortune,  came  in  Lru.-ts,  —  often 
her  \\ay.  The  tir.-t  ,-ln.ck  \\a-  the  arrival  of  his  lmii<>r. 
the  jii'L'.'.  eSOOrtfld  by  the  -hei-ili',  and  heralded  by  a  Mjuad 
of  constables.  The  crowd  made  way.  of  course,  for  the 
<  hief  ma^i-trate  of  the  occasion.  Every  body  but  Han- 


A    CONTENTION  FOR    PLACES.  383 

nah  stood  staring  and  agape,  watching  his  passage  ;  but 
she,  blind  to  every  thing  but  her  own  interest  in  getting 
forward,  pressed  into  his  wake,  and  Angie  following, 
both  were  wafted  into  the  inner  hall,  not  far  from  the 
entrance  to  the  court-room.  Here  the  judge  and  his 
escort  were  suddenly  swallowed  up  by  a  baize-covered 
door,  which  swung  noiselessly  open  to  admit  them  to 
some  waiting-room  or  private  passage  leading  to  the 
further  end  of  the  court-room.  The  wedge  which  had 
forced  an  entrance  for  the  old  woman  and  her  attendant 
thus  suddenly  withdrawn,  the  crowd  collapsed,  and  shut 
them  in  between  two  human  walls.  They  were  still  car 
ried  onward,  though  almost  imperceptibly,  by  the  pres 
sure  from  behind,  when  suddenly  a  diversion  took  place 
in  the  popular  mind.  A  report  had  reached  the  front 
ranks  that  they  were  bringing  in  the  prisoners  ;  that  a 
sight  of  them  might  be  obtained  outside,  at  the  rear  of 
the  building ;  and  now,  while  the  throng  without  were 
pressing  to  get  in,  the  throng  within  were  pressing  still 
more  violently  to  get  out.  Hannah  and  Angie  were 
driven  back  almost  on  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd, 
wafted,  as  it  were,  by  an  ebb  tide ;  but  the  human 
waves  that  had  forced  for  themselves  an  exit,  soon  re 
turned,  angry  and  clamorous,  to  swell  the  onward  flow. 
It  was  nothing  but  a  trick,  a  sham ;  the  prisoners  were 
safely  lodged  in  the  dock  already,  the  trial  was  about  to 
begin,  and  at  this  assurance,  on  the  authority  of  a  consta 
ble,  who  had  officiated  as  one  of  their  escort,  the  rush, 
the  quarrelling,  and  the  squabbling  reached  their  height. 


.'J 84  B A  V  A'  '/'  /:  I)    II  KAltTS. 

Hannah  and  An-ie.  victim-  of  this  contention,  were  in 
r  of  being  .-mothered,  straiiLrled,  annihilated.  .V.t 
that  Ilaniiali  wa>  daunted.  Tall,  strong,  a n<l  determined, 
she  defended  her.-cli'  with  her  elbows,  her  li-t-.  her  FOlOe  : 
even  the  boys,  teu  times  wui>e  in  a  crowd  than  men. 
charged  in  vain  against  the  irou  wall  of  hi-r  -tern  resolve. 
Alone,  she  might  have  held  her  ground,  maintained  her 
progress.  But  Angie  was  a  clog  upon  lier.  Angic,  ex 
hausted  and  faint,  was  frightened,  bewildered,  and  so,  of 
course,  undone.  Staggering,  fullini:.  trampled  on  a-t  la-t, 
the  right  and  left  thrusts  of  her  companion  alone  .-a\.  d 
her  from  serious  injury.  Whether  the  report,  — u  A 
woman  down !  They  are  trampling  on  her !  She  is 
dying!"  —  called  for  official  interference,  or  whether 
chance  brought  help  at  this  crisis,  is  a  matter  of  doubt, 
('er'ain  it  is,  however,  that  this  extivmitv  turned  the 
scale  of  fortune  suddenly  in  favor  of  our  couple  of  adven 
turers,  for  a  constable,  the  constable  who  had  just  been 
Lri\  in^  information  to  the  crowd,  the  very  constable  of 
the  prison,  Hannah's  champion  and  Angie's  admirer, 
came  at  this  moment  to  the  rescue,  took  the  unfortunates 
in  charge,  waived  off  the  crowd  by  the  magic  of  his 
of  authority,  and  before  thev  knew  how  or  whence 
had  come,  they  had  loiind  the  se-ame  to 
the  mysterious  green  door  by  which  the  judge  had  di-ap- 
peaivd.  and  were  in  a  dark,  .lamp  lobby,  with  plenty  of 
breathing  room,  and  the  roar  and  ru>h  ••!'  the  crowd 
without  sounding  through  the  mnliled  door  like  the  surge 
and  murmur  of  an  angry  sea,  from  which  they  had  been 


A    CONTENTION   FOR    PLACES.  385 

saved  by  a  miracle.  The  cheering  admonitions  and  en 
couragement  of  their  rescuer,  together  with  the  whole 
some  scolding  administered  by  Hannah,  soon  restored 
Angie  to  presence  of  mind,  and  enabled  her  to  suppress 
the  hysterical  throes  and  nervous  tremor  which,  for  some 
moments,  threatened  to  master  her.  Though  bruised  and 
panting,  nearly  strangled  by  the  strings  of  her  hood,  and 
with  her  old  silk  mandarin  rent  in  several  places,  she  had 
escaped  further  injury,  and  in  reply  to  the  interrogations 
of  the  constable  and  the  pertinacity  of  Hannah,  soon 
declared  herself  able  to  proceed.  She  shrank,  however, 
as  her  glance  rested  on  the  door  by  which  they  had  found 
safety,  and  shuddered  at  the  execrations  and  threats  that 
now  and  then  went  up  from  the  crowd.  After  all,  who 
knows  which  had  overcome  her  most,  the  violence  of  the 
press,  or  the  deep  mutterings,  the  prophetic  imprecations, 
which  all  around  her  had  united  in  heaping  on  the  crimi 
nals,  whose  blood  they  claimed  at  the  hands  of  the  law? 
They  would  have  torn  her  to  pieces,  perhaps,  had  they 
suspected  the  part  she  had  just  been  playing,  and  how  she 
had  cheated  the  righteous  vengeance  they  were  here  to 
vindicate.  Outcast  of  society,  friend  of  the  depraved, 
what  better  fate  did  she  deserve  than  to  be  trampled 
under  the  foot  of  justice  ! 

"  Don't  you  be  afeard,  miss,"  was  the  constable's 
prompt  reply  to  these  instinctive  thrills  of  alarm  on 
Angle's  part.  "  I  hain't  the  slightest  idea  of  letting  you 
get  into  such  a  scrape  as  that  again.  I  know  all  about 
crowds,  I  do  ;  I'll  take  care  of  you  (in  his  patronizing 
33 


386  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

way)  ;  come  with  me  ; "  and  motioning  to  Hannah  to  fol 
low,  he  commenced  piloting  Angie  along  the  dark  lobby, 
and  thence  up  a  winding  staircase,  which  branched  off 
in  an  opposite  direction  to  the  private  entrance  by 
which  the  judge  had  gained  access  to  the  court-room. 
This  stair-way  was  dark  and  steep,  and  at  the  top  of  it 
a  heavy  door  barred  their  further  progress  ;  but  the  con 
stable,  who  was  familiar  with  its  spring,  threw  it  noise 
lessly  open,  and  they  were  instantly  greeted  by  a  flood  of 
light,  a  murmur  of  voices,  and  the  sight  of  a  closely 
packed  assembly  ;  not  such  a  rude  press  as  that  from 
which  they  had  just  so  thankfully  made  their  escape,  but 
a  well-dressed  female  assembly,  for  the  most  part  accom 
modated  with  seats,  but  where  these  were  wanting,  occu 
pying,  apparently  every  inch  of  standing-room.  It  wa» 
the  gallery  of  tin-  court-room,  iv>.-r\»'d  on  this  occasion, 
for  ladies  only;  and  its  scats  had  been  filled,  since  an 
early  hour  in  the  morning,  by  the  wives  and  daughters 
of  the  judge  and  principal  lawyers  in  attendance  on  the 
trial,  and  such  other  ladies  as  were  willing  to  brave  the 
ordeal  of  a  protracted  session,  in  close  quarters  and  bad 
air,  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  their  curiosity  or  thirst  for 
exciting  oratory. 

Among  the  gentry  thus  accommodated,  there  \\a- 
a  sprinkling  of  females  of  a  different  quality,  taw 
drily  and  showily  decked  out,  while  the  standing- 
room,  outside  the  gay  circle,  presented  here  and  thnv. 
brought  out  in  >inm^  relief  against  the  wall  of  the  build 
ing,  the  .-shabby  figure  and  wild,  haggard  face  of 


A    CONTENTION  FOR   PLACES.  387 

poor  vagrant,  familiar  enough  with  the  precincts  of 
courts  to  know  where  to  find  the  best  places,  and  bold 
enough  to  press  in  any  where. 

Angie,  thankful  just  now  for  shelter  and  safety,  and 
anxious  to  avoid  observation,  would  gladly  have  taken  a 
standing  position  just  inside  the  entrance  door,  and  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  gallery.  Hannah,  too,  would  have 
been  content  with  a  situation  which,  being  the  most 
elevated  that  the  c*)urt-room  afforded,  commanded  a 
panoramic  view  of  the  whole ;  but  their  conductor 
was  not  one  of  that  sort  of  men  who  do  things  by 
halves. 

"  You  see,  miss,"  he  whispered  to  Angie,  "  I've 
brought  you  to  the  court-end,  and  now  I'm  going  to  get 
the  young  woman  that  I  admire,  and  the  old  woman  that 
I  respect,  the  best  seats  here."  Upon  which,  he  began 
to  push  his  way  down  the  steps  of  the  little  middle  aisle, 
leading  to  the  front  row  of  seats.  A  man  among  so 
many  women,  and  that  man  wearing  a  constable's  badge, 
was  an  authority  not  to  be  questioned.  The  timid  and 
yielding,  who  were  huddled  on  the  steps,  readily  made 
room ;  one,  more  obstinate  than  the  rest,  and  whom 
the  constable  almost  stumbled  over,  was  taken  by  the 
shoulder  and  rudely  thrust  aside,  with  the  words,  "  Deuce 
take  yer,  mad  Moll,  you're  always  in  the  way  !  "  "A 
little  room,  if  you  please,  ladies?"  was  his  conciliatory 
tone  to  the  aristocratic  fair  ones,  who  were  disposed  to 
maintain  their  ground.  "  This  way,  ma'am  !  this  way  !  " 
as  he  beckoned  Hannah  and  the  reluctant  Angie  on,  — 


388  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

"  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,"  and,  as  he  counted,  his 
inexorable  finger  marked  off  the  occupants  of  the  front 
seat,  —  "  room  for  six,  ladies  ;  them  seats  always  accom 
modates  six  !  here's  a  place  for  you,  mum,"  to  Hannah, 
who  was  hobbling  slowly  to  the  front.  '•  Move  up,  and 
make  room,  if  you  please,  ladies,"  in  a  tone,  whi< -h 
meant,  "  whether  you  please  or  not."  "  This  old  lady 
has  an  interest  in  the  trial ;  come  twenty  mile  or  more 
to  attend  it." 

Slowly,  reluctantly,  measuring  the  inflexible  eye  of  the 
constable,  to  detect  any  chance  of  his  relenting,  the  silked 
and  feathered  ladies  drew  their  narrow  skirts  around 
them,  and,  with  cross  looks  and  a  complaining  murmur, 
moved  up.  A  slender,  airy  dame,  the  outside  occupant  of 
the  seat,  withdrew  her  person,  as  far  as  she  could  ;  and, 
as  Hannah's  stiff,  unbending  form  settled  squarely  into 
the  space  alotted  to  her,  fastidiously  strove  to  protect  her 
satin  pelisse  from  contact  with  the  old  woman's  camlet 
cloak.  Meanwhile  the  occupants  of  neighboring  seats, 
undisturbed  in  their  possessions,  stared  unmercifully  at 
Hannah  and  Angie  as  "  persons  inlere-ted  in  the  trial." 
11  Mi  it  her  and  sweetheart  of  one  of  the  murderers, 
perhaps."  So  the  whisper  went  round,  —  round  even  to 
the  ears  of  Angie,  who,  having  followed  Hannah  to  the 
front,  where  no  seat  was  yet  provided  for  her,  was  left 
at  this  moment  standing,  the  most  conspicuous  person  in 
the  house.  The  constable  had  in  vain  counted  up  the 
numbers  on  the  opposite  side  front ;  there  was  no  vacancy 


A    CONTENTION   FOR    PLACES.  389 

there.  Angle  would  have  retreated  if  she  could,  but 
those  behind  had  reseated  themselves  and  hemmed  her 
in  ;  the  constable  had  gone  to  fetch  a  camp-stool  ;  he 
had  whispered  this  intention  to  her,  and  then  disappeared, 
with  the  parting  assurance,  "  I'll  have  to  hand  it  down 
to  you  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  ;  but  never  fear,  I'll 
make  sure  that  you  get  it." 

While  awaiting  its  arrival,  however,  there  was  nothing 
for  Angie  but  to  stand,  crimson  with  fear  and  embar 
rassment,  more  prominent  than  the  prisoners  in  the  dock, 
and  a  scarcely  less  pitiable  object.  She  had  drawn  her 
hood,  as  far  as  possible,  over  her  face  ;  she  had  tucked 
behind  and  under  it,  as  well  as  she  could,  her  stray, 
curling  locks,  for  the  comb  that  should  have  held  them 
had  dropped  out  and  been  lost  in  the  crowd.  With 
womanly  instinct  she  had  brushed  the  dust  from 
her  scant  mandarin,  and  attempted  to  fold  it  so  as  to 
hide  the  rents  ;  but  nothing  could  soothe  or  hide  her 
features,  distorted  by  mortification  and  alarm.  The 
emotions  already  alluded  to  would  have  been  sufficient 
to  account  for  such  an  expression,  but  within  a  moment 
past  it  had  been  aggravated  by  a  more  fearful  sensa 
tion  ;  for  she  had  just  had  a  vision, — had  met  a  phan 
tom  in  her  path  ;  pale,  emaciated,  wild,  it  had  fixed  her 
with  its  stare  ;  it  had  vanished,  but  it  transfixed  her 
still.  Her  own  humiliating  position,  the  murmur  of 
suspicion  that  attached  to  her  as  one  interested  in  the 
trial,  the  watchful,  accusing  eyes,  —  she  was  conscious  of 
33* 


390  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

them  all ;  but  what  kept  her  planted  there,  so  still  and 
horror-struck,  was,  more  than  all.  the  certainty  that,  for 
the  second  time  to-day,  she  had  seen,  overtopping  all 
other  faces,  blinding  her  to  all  others,  the  face  of  a 

ghi»>t. 

It  was  a  female  form  this  time,  and  a  fare  that  had 
once  been  the  face  of  a  girl.  But  now  a  soul  in  purga 
tory,  a  blasted  spirit,  looked  out  from  that  same  tenement 
oi'clav.  with  which  Angie  had  long  ago  been  familiar. 
What  could  it  mean?  Were  all  the  visions  that  had 
haunted  her  heart  for  years  to  become  realities  to-day? 
One  by  one  were  the  secret  companions  of  her  memory 
to  rise  up  and  confront  her  in  the  face  of  all  the, 
\vorld?  Was  this,  then,  the  day  of  doom?  this  place  the 
judgment  ?  Were  the  degraded,  the  lost,  the  very  dead 
to  reappear  in  testimony?  and  here,  and  now,  were  the 
secrets  of  all  hearts  to  be  unveiled  ? 

A  little  while  ago,  and  she  had  triumphed  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  having  disarmed  fate.  In  the  agitation  of 
the  present  moment  she  felt  it  closing  in  upon  her,  and, 
no  longer  resisting,  she  braced  herself  to  meet  the 
shock. 

No  wonder  that  when  the  camp-^tool  came,  at 
and  by  the  mustable's  peremptory  orders,  was  pa--ed 
down  to  her.  -he  i'ailed  to  see  it  :  that  when  it  was  pointed 
out,  and  even  set  up  for  her  use  close  beside  Hannah, 
she  took  no  notice  ;  and  that.  emharra.-siug  as  her  situa 
tion  wa-.  .-he  would  have  continued  .-landing  for  an  in- 


A    CONTENTION   FOR    PLACES.  391 

definite  period,  scrutinizing  the  sea  of  faces  above  her 
with  an  expectant  gaze,  had  not  Hannah  given  her  a 
smart  jerk,  at  the  same  time  saying  in  a  loud,  shrill  key, 
which  made  every  body  laugh,  "  Set  down,  Angie 
Cousin  !  do  you  s'pose  folks  behind  can  see  right  through 
yer?" 


392  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE    PRINCIPAL    WITNESS. 

MEANWHILE  the  court  had  been  called  to  order,  the 
jury  impanelled,  the  indictment  read,  and  the  prisoners' 
plea,  "  Not  guilty,"  received  and  recorded.  The  counsel 
for  the  prosecution  now  rose.  Angle's  attention  was  at 
once  concentrated  upon  the  wiry  figure  and  keen  nervous 
features  of  the  lawyer,  who,  as  he  stood  with  both  hands 
resting  by  the  finger-tips  on  the  green  table  round  which 
his  legal  brethren  were  grouped,  was,  from  her  immedi 
ate  recognition  of  his  person,  and  from  the  attitude  he 
occupied,  of  one  about  to  address  the  court,  the  single 
object  that  arrested  her  eye.  Hannah  recognized  him 
too,  and  signified  the  fact  by  a  shove  of  Angie's  elbow, 
and  the  words,  "  I  vum,  Angie,  that  'ere's  the  same  little 
red-faced  man  that  we  jest  see  so  fooled  in  the  jail 
yonder." 

At  this  moment  the  prosecuting  attorney  was  tin-  centre 
of  all  eyes  and  ears,  .-<>  that  Hannah's  remark  oc.-ij.cd 
general  notice.  A  l'e\v  of  her  neighbors  overheard  it, 
however,  and  thereupon  scanned  her  and  An^rie  with 


THE   PRINCIPAL    WITNESS.  393 

increased  curiosity  and  remark.  "  In  the  jail !  "  They 
had  just  come  from  there  !  Of  course,  then,  they  were 
related  to  the  prisoners  i  That  settled  it. 

In  accordance  with  the  anticipations  of  the  audience, 
the  government  attorney  should  now  have  proceeded  to 
open  his  case,  but  to  the  disappointment  and  chagrin  of 
every  body  present  he  addressed  himself  to  the  court 
instead  of  the  jury,  and  boldly  solicited  a  postponement 
of  the  trial.  He  had  been  disappointed  of  one  of  his 
principal  witnesses  ;  the  man  was  ill,  and  unable  to  tes 
tify  ;  the  interests  of  justice  required  that  his  testimony 
should  be  heard  ;  and  much  as  the  attorney  regretted  the 
inconvenience  that  might  arise  from  an  adjournment,  he 
trusted  that  in  consideration  of  the  importance  of  the 
case,  and  the  terrible  and  weighty  charges  which  were 
to  be  proved,  the  court  would  grant  a  reasonable  delay. 

The  judge,  taken  wholly  by  surprise,  manifested  his 
astonishment  at  so  unexpected  a  proposition,  and  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoners  seizing  his  advantage,  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  entered  a  forcible  protest  against  any  delay, 
as  a  gross  perversion  of  law,  and  an  injustice  to  his 
clients.  Earnestly  did  Trump  declaim  upon  the  fact  that 
the  law  must  know  no  prejudices ;  that  his  clients, 
although  accused  of  dark  crimes,  had  all  the  more  claim 
to  an  early  trial,  —  an  immediate  acquittal,  he  might  say, 
—  so  strong  was  his  conviction  of  the  result.  Sagaciously 
did  he  point  out  how  thus  far  every  advantage  had  been 
on  the  side  of  the  government ;  feelingly  did  he  allude 
to  the  cruel  imprisonment  the  accused  had  already  suf- 


HAl'\  ll-:D    HEARTS. 

fcretl,  during  a  most  inclement  season,  and  the  patience 
•with  which  they,  and  he,  their  advocate,  had  awaited 
the  uncertain  arrival  of  the  \e--el.  just  in  port,  which 
brought  with  it  the  principal  witnesses  for  the  prose 
cution —  witne.-ses  whom  liis  legal  brother,  the  opposite 
counsel,  had  openly  boasted  were  enough  to  insure  con 
viction  ten  times  over.  The  present  evasion  of  jn-tice 
—  so  he  unhesitatingly  continued  —  must  be  a  mere 
quibble,  a  pretence  ;  the  prosecution  doubtless  knew  the 
weak  points  in  their  case  ;  he  himself  was  prepared  to 
see  such  groundless  charges  as  those  brought  against  his 
clients  fall  to' pieces  for  the  want  of  any  foundation  ;  but 
he  had  hardly  expected  to  see  them  fade  out  in  the  very 
commencement  of  the  conflict,  and  disappear  "like  the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  vision." 

"What  with  bluster,  pathos,  and  Shakespeare,  Trump 
had  wrought  himself  up  to  quite  a  pitch  of  excitement 
already  ;  he  had  made  some  impression,  too,  on  the  jury 
and  the  audience  ;  this  he  always  did,  —  he  had  a  mag 
netic  power  over  audiences  and  juries. 

But  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution  understood  Trump, 
and  opposed  him,  with  his  customary  tactics,  sarcasm, 
scorn,  contempt,  real  or  protended.  lie  did  not  even 
deign  to  look  at  him.  simply  condescending  so  far  as  to 
explain  to  tin-  judge,  in  a  snappi-h  sort  of  way,  that  he 
was  ready  to  proceed  with  the  Ctat  if  the  court  chose  in 
its  leniency  to  Lrrant  this  indulgence  to  the  </••„//,,/,.//. 
who,  accustomed  to  the  life  of  freebooters,  were  naturally 
weary  of  imprisonment,  and  who,  so  long  in  the  habit 


THE  PRINCIPAL    WITNESS.  395 

of  carrying  matters  with  a  high  hand,  expected,  no  doubt, 
through  their  counsel,  to  make  Justice  herself  walk  the 
plank.  He  was  quite  prepared  to  meet  his  adversary  — 
the  counsel  for  the  defendants.  A  week  ago  he  had  neither 
dreamed  of  nor  wished  for  further  testimony  than  that  at 
his  command  to-day.  A  finish  and  eclat  had  indeed 
recently  been  promised  to  this  great  revelation  of  crime 
by  a  past  accomplice  of  the  prisoners,  who  had  professed 
a  readiness  to  turn  state's  evidence  ;  facts  already  de 
posed  by  him  had  an  important  bearing  on  the  case.  As 
proof  and  warning  of  the  extent  to  which  human  nature 
might  be  brutalized  and  depraved,  these  subsidiary  facts 
ought  not  to  be  withheld  from  the  court  and  the  com 
munity  ;  he  left  the  decision  confidently,  however,  to  the 
superior  wisdom  of  the  presiding  judge. 

The  judge,  deaf,  as  became  his  office,  to  mere  decla 
mation,  and  steeled  against  dramatic  effects,  looked 
simply  to  facts,  or  at  most,  probabilities  in  the  case. 
Was  this  deficiency  in  the  evidence  for  the  government 
one  which  it  was  the  duty  of  the  prosecuting  officer  to 
have  foreseen  and  provided  against  ?  Or,  if  wholly 
accidental,  could  it  be  remedied  by  delay  ?  "What  was 
the  nature  of  the  witness'  illness,  and  what  his  chance 
of  recovery  ?  The  learned  counsel  was  of  course  aware 
that  in  capital  cases  depositions  of  testimony  were  of  no 
avail ;  the  evidence  must  be  given  in  person,  and  in 
presence  of  the  accused.  What  probability  was  there  that 
at  a  later  day  this  testimony  would  be  forthcoming  ? 

These  and  similar  pertinent  inquiries  on  the  part  of  the 


396  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

court,  compelled  a  closer  investigation  than  was  consistent 
with  the  interests  of  the  attorney  fur  the  pro-edition.  Not 
that  he  ha-eil  much  hope  on  a  p<»-tpouemeut  of  tlie  trial. 
or  had  any  sanguine  BXpOCtfttkm  tliat  it  would  he  granted 
hy  the  court ;  the  proposition  for  delay  had  heen  urged 
chiefly  in  compliance  with  the  demands  of  the  elo.|ii.  ..: 
counsellor  appointed  to  as.-ist  him  through  this  important 
trial,  and  conduct  the  argument.  This  gentleman  had 
been  greatly  staggered  hy  tin-  quashing  of  the  important 
links  of  evidence  which  Bly  had  hecn  expected  to  furnish, 
and  it  was  to  satisfy  his  associate,  perhaps,  too,  in  order 
to  make  the  mo.-t  of  hi*  l«.-t  t e-ti UK >ny,  hy  publicly  de 
ploring  it,  that  the  attorney  had  put  in  his  plea  for  a 
postponement.  Brief  as  had  been  his  interview  with 
Bly,  it  had  served  to  convince  him  of  the  hopelessness 
of  any  attempt  to  extract  information  from  his  obsti 
nately  sealed  lips  —  lips  which  the  lawyer  believed  would 
soon  be  eternally  sealed  ;  for  so  shocked  had  he  been  by 
the  wasted  appearance  and  cataleptic  torpor  in  which  he 
had  found  his  anticipated  witness,  that  he  greatly  doubted 
whether,  if  brought  into  court,  and  willing  to  testify,  he 
would  prove  capable  of  furnishing  coherent  evidence. 

Every  way  now  circumstances  were  telling  against  the 
prosecuting  counsel  and  in  favor  of  the  prisoners.  The 
judge's  inquiries  served  to  extract  truths  which  made  the 
arguments  for  a  postponement  seem  forced  and  trivial, 
not  to  say  suspicious  and  unreal.  The  jailer  and  his 
assistant  being  called  up,  and  questioned  in  regard  to  the 
promised  witness,  unfortunately  dwelt  more  upon  his 


THE    PRINCIPAL    WITNESS.  397 

unwillingness  than  upon  his  inability  to  testify.  The 
jailer  himself,  mindful  of  the  promised  reward  in  the 
Baultie  Rawle  case,  had  not  quite  despaired  of  shaking 
Ely's  resolution  of  silence  if  only  sufficient  time  were 
allowed  ;  but  the  head  turnkey,  Tracy,  who  was  cherish 
ing  no  such  secret  hopes,  blurted  out  the  truth  in  the  face 
of  every  body,  by  repeating  the  very  words  of  the  terrible 
oath  with  which  Bly  had  sworn  "  never  to  blab." 

This  ended  the  discussion.  The  court  somewhat 
imperatively  decided  that  the  grounds  for  a  postpone 
ment  were  insufficient.  The  trial  must  proceed.  The 
audience,  disgusted  at  such  sham  pretences  for  delaying 
what  they  had  all  come  hither  to  see  and  hear,  were 
gratified  at  the  decision  ;  the  jury,  warned  of  a  deficiency 
in  the  evidence,  and  overawed  by  Trump's  self-confidence, 
subtracted  one  point  from  their  mental  counts  against  the 
accused.  The  counsel  for  the  defence,  conscious  of  his 
advantage,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  in  a  triumph 
ant,  defiant  manner.  On  the  other  hand,  the  prosecuting 
attorney  seeing  himself  worsted,  and  feeling  that  he  had 
made  a  mistake,  got  more  red  and  flustered  than  ever ; 
and,  out  of  humor  with  the  court,  his  own  assistant,  as 
well  as  the  opposing  counsel,  and,  worst  of  all,  with 
himself,  was  in  no  state  for  coolly  opening  his  case,  or 
conducting  the  examination  of  witnesses,  which  was  to 
succeed,  with  his  customary  acumen  and  skill. 

Angie,  who  up  to  this  moment  had  sat  aghast,  with  lips 
parted  and  ears  strained,  drew  a  long  breath.  They 
were  resolved  to  wring  the  truth  from  Bly,  after  all ;  to 
34 


HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

open  his  lips  at  last,  and  blast  her  with  the 
chance-droppings  therefrom, —  this  much  of  tin-  attor 
ney's  purpose  .-In-  had  comprehended  in  spite  of  legal 
form*.  —  but  the  attempt  had  failed:  it  wa>  rnlcd  other 
wise;  tli»-  jmLre  had  determined  (bless  him!)  to  leave 
the  poor  wretch  to  his  silence,  and  her  to  her  peace, — 
that  comparative  peace,  at  least,  which  she  had  striven 
so  hard  to  -ecure.  And  so,  having  breasted  one  more 
wave  of  this  day's  storm,  she  breathed  again.  But  a- 
a  rflttd  in  the  trough  of  a  heavy  sea  pauses  only  to 
gird  herself  for  the  next  shock,  so  Angus  with  all  her 
powers  close-reefed  and  fortified,  sat  braced  up,  erect, 
expectant. 

Every  body  about  her  was  listening  attentively  to  the 
statement  of  the  attorney,  who  was  rehearsing  to  the 
jury  the  facts  he  proposed  to  prove,  —  every  body  but 
Hannah  ;  and  she  was  sufficiently  engrossed  in  watching 
the  proceedings  through  her  spectacles.  Angie  could  not 
yet  weigh  and  digest  tin-  events  of  the  morning;  in  the 
present  momentary  security  and  calm,  she  could  only 
lock  them  up  in  her  own  breast,  and  patiently  keep 
irnard  upon  them.  Beyond  that,  all  she  had  to  do,  all 
she  could  do,  was  to  preserve  a  show  of  raininess,  and. 
as  far  as  possible,  deport  herself  like  any  other  spectator 
on  the  occasion.  It  aided  her  in  this  endeavor  to  fix 
her  eye  upon  the  speaker,  and  follow  his  voice.  This 
concentration  of  her  powers,  at  first  mechanical,  alter 
a  while  became  real.  It  v\a-  impossible  that  she  could 
be  indifferent  to  the  main  features  of  a  trial,  with  the 


THE    PRINCIPAL     WITNESS.  399 

prosecution  of  which  she  had  unintentionally  interfered  ; 
otherwise,  exciting  as  they  might  be  to  the  general 
community,  she  would  have  been  unable,  burdened  as 
she  was,  to  follow  with  interest  the  details  of  crimes 
with  which  she  had  no  concern.  But  circumstances 
had  made  her  an  associate  in  the  business  now  before 
the  court,  and  her  attention  once  caught  and  riveted  to 
the  statement  of  the  attorney,  she  soon  became,  not 
only  in  pretence,  but  in  fact,  one  of  his  keenest  and 
most  absorbed  listeners. 

Occasionally,  indeed,  her  attention  wandered,  drawn, 
as  it  were,  by  magnetism  to  other  parts  of  the  house. 
One  of  these  side  glances  revealed  to  her  the  stout, 
labor-beni  form  of  Van  Hausen,  who  had  worked  his 
way  to  the  front  ranks  of  the  audience,  just  outside  the 
rail  that  protected  the  circle  of  lawyers  from  intrusion, 
and  who,  leaning  on  his  rustic  whip-handle,  was  drink 
ing  in  the  attorney's  statement  of  charges  about  to  be 
proved,  his  honest  face  at  once  incredulous  and  horror- 
struck.  Apparently  it  would  require  proof  upon  proof 
to  convince  him  that  men  could  be  so  wicked.  A  picture 
of  sturdy  goodness  the  old  man  was,  —  a  human  protest 
against  crime.  For  this  very  reason,  perhaps,  his  pres 
ence  there,  just  opposite  to  her,  disconcerted  Angie.  He 
was  so  suspicious  of  her,  so  unfriendly  always. 

And  again,  she  gave  a  little  nervous  start,  as  some 
thing  withered,  brown,  and  crumpled,  winding  its  way 
insidiously  through  the  crowd,  just  beneath  the  gallery, 
flashed  upon  her,  like  a  snake  in  the  grass,  and  then 


400  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

was  lost  to  sight  again.  It  was  a  sly  old  face  and  form 
that  she  had  no  trouble  in  ivmirnising.  She  did  not 
even  question  why  it  should  be  b«T6.  K\ery  familiar 
f«  at ure  of  herpa-t  life  \\a-  coining  to  the  surface  to-day, 
—  why  not  Dicdrich  Stein?  Still,  though  she  almost 
immediately  lost  sight  of  him,  the  knowledge  of  his 
presence  gave  her  an  uneasy  sensation,  such  as  one  has 
with  the  consciousness  of  vermin  in  the  vicinity. 

The  buccaneers,  five  in  number,  who  wore  on  trial 
for  their  life,  were  seated  in  the  dock.  The  interest  of 
the  trial  centred  in  them,  of  course.  Their  faces  were 
visible  to  the  jury  and  the  various  officers  of  the  law, 
as  well  as  to  that  small  portion  of  the  assembly  who 
had  obtained  advantageous  positions  opposite  the  dock, 
but  a  high  wooden  partition  quite  concealed  their  per 
sons  from  every  body  in  the  rear.  Even  from  the  front 
of  the  gallery  only  the  backs  of  their  heads  and  shoul 
ders  were  discernible,  so  that  the  attention  of  the 
audience  was  in  no  degree  abstracted  from  the  attorney 
and  his  opening  argument  by  the  otherwise  irresistible 
temptation  to  watch  the  varying  expression  on  the  coun 
tenances  of  the  accused. 

It  was  the  old  story  of  deception,  robbery,  and  cruelty, 
all  summed  up  in  the  dark  word,  Piracy,  —  a  story  so 
old,  a  deed  so  dark,  as  almost  to  be  forgotten  and  lost 
in  oblivion,  but  f«»r  the  recent  iv\i\al  <>f  the  crime  which 
makes  it  now  a  familiar  outrage.  Hut  lawless  frec- 
1  M.dtrrs  may  yet  claim  legal  sanction  for  their  deeds,  and 
indifference  to  others'  rights  may  be  fostered  by  sophis- 


THE   PRINCIPAL    WITNESS.  401 

try  or  imaginary  wrongs.  In  some  instances,  too,  life 
may  be  held  sacred  while  property  is  sacrificed,  and  the 
eyes  of  neutrals  may  be  blinded  to  the  outrage  by  a  cer 
tain  pretence  of  justice  and  discrimination.  No  such 
affectation  of  mercy,  no  such  partial  distinctions  softened 
the  crimes  of  these  men,  or  qualified  their  deeds.  Ene 
mies  as  they  were  of  all  nations,  vessels  under  every 
flag  had  been  their  natural  prey.  If  the  statement  of  the 
attorney  were  credible,  murder  had  been  their  pastime, 
and  nameless  deeds  of  horror  had  been  committed  by 
them  in  cold  blood.  I  say  by  them,  for  all  shared  the 
guilt ;  but  while  listening  to  the  lawyer's  burning  words 
(with  such  a  topic  they  could  not  be  other  than  words  of 
fire)  the  audience  almost  forgot,  in  their  deadly  indigma- 
tion  against  the  leader,  Bullet,  that  his  associates  had 
any  voluntary  partnership  in  his  acts.  So  tyrannic,  so 
terrible  had  been  this  man's  mastery  over  his  men,  so 
fierce  and  so  cruel  had  been  the  despotism  of  his  iron 
will,  that  while  he  had  borne  the  part  of  an  arch-fiend, 
they  seemed  to  have  served  simply  as  his  tools  ;  while  he 
had  been  the  ally  of  iniquity,  they  had  been  its  slaves. 
So  intense  was  this  man's  personality  to  the  minds  of  the 
audience,  so  plainly  did  it  appear  that  every  deed  of  dark 
ness  and  infamy  had  been  planned  by  his  cool  brain  and 
executed  by  his  pitiless  decree,  that  at  this  opening  phase 
of  the  trial,  and  with  the  uncertainty  attending  its  result, 
the  assembly  would  unanimously  have  voted  for  the  imme 
diate  acquittal  of  every  other  man  of  the  gang,  on  the  condi 
tion  that  Bullet  should  expiate  his  crimes  on  the  gallows. 
34* 


40*2  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

The  attornev'-  heat  Iiad  proved  effectual.  It  had  fired 
the  audience,  and  in  the  right  direction  too,  for  Ballot 
was  not  onlv  the  dccpi-t  dyed  villain,  hut  he  \\a-  the 
principal  in  the  indictment;  his  conviction  W9&  e»entiul 
to  that  of  his  associates;  and  the  main  point  si-run -d.  the 
fate  of  the  whole  gang  was  beyond  a  question. 

But  heat  is  not  the  only  quality  effectual  in  an  advo 
cate,  neither  is  it  an  element  always  to  be  controlled. 
The  attorney,  warmed  with  his  subject,  unfortunately 
went  too  far ;  and  in  boasting  of  the  proof  he  meant  to 
bring,  forgot  himself,  and  inserted  more  than  one  point 
of  testimony,  for  which  he  was  wholly  dependent  on  Bly. 
His  cooler  ally,  the  counsellor,  endeavored  to  warn  and 
check  him,  but  it  was  too  late  ;  he  had  betrayed  the 
missing  links  in  his  chain  of  evidence,  and  Trump, 
armed  at  all  points,  had  made  a  note  of  it.  This  cir 
cumstance,  of  which  the  attorney  almost  instantly  became 
conscious,  disconcerted  him  and  chilled  his  ardor.  The 
peroration  of  his  argument  was  wanting  in  the  brilliancy 
which  had  until  now  marked  it,  and  he  sat  down  at  last 
considerably  flustered,  and  with  that  consciousness  of 
failure  which  had  acted  as  a  discouraging  influence  upon 
him  since  the  early  disappointment  of  the  morning,  and 
which  promised  to  be  cumulative  in  its  effects  upon  his 
efforts  throughout  the  day. 

Witnesses  for  the  government  were  now  summoned  in 
turn,  sworn,  and  their  testimony  taken.  They  were  few 
in  number.  A  former  I'nitcd  State-  <  <.n<ul  at  Pernam- 
buco  furnished  convincing  proof  of  the  depredations  of  the 


THE   PRINCIPAL    WITNESS.  403 

pirates  and  the  sufferings  of  their  victims,  and  the  super 
cargo  of  a  ship  now  in  port  recognized  and  pointed  out 
among  trophies  taken  from  the  persons  of  the  accused  or 
from  their  vessel,  instruments  of  navigatipn,  and  other 
articles  of  value,  belonging  to  the  officers  and  owners  of 
a  hitherto  mysteriously  missing  bark.  Excepting  these, 
the  witnesses  for  the  government  consisted  wholly  of  the 
captain,  boatswain,  and  one  of  the  crew  of  the  merchant 
man  that  had  captured  the  pirate  craft.  The  remainder 
of  her  officers  and  men  had  shipped  in  some  other  ves 
sel,  or  been  left  behind  in  the  foreign  port  which  she  had 
since  visited. 

They  were  examined  in  the  inverse  order  of  their 
intelligence  and  the  importance  of  their  testimony.  The 
first,  a  rough  but  honest  sailor,  gave  a  sufficiently  clear 
narrative  of  the  detection  and  pursuit  of  the  notorious 
pest  of  the  sea,  the  desperate  defence  she.  had  made, 
the  coolness  and  gallantry  of  his  own  commander, — upon 
whose  prowess  and  heroism  the  loyal  tar  was  so  tempted 
to  descant  that  the  court  was  continually  compelled  to 
recall  him  to  points  more  essential  to  the  case  in  hand, — 
and  finally  the  capture  of  the  pirate  chief  and  his  men, 
and  their  identity  Avith  the  prisoners  now  present  at  the 
bar.  The  boatswain  confirmed  the  sailor's  evidence, 
adding  to  it  also  a  complete  description  of  the  vessel's 
piratical  outfit,  and  furnishing  a  graphic  account  of  her 
destruction  by  an  explosion  of  her  powder  magazine,  to 
which  her  villanous  and  artful  crew  had  laid  a  train  just 
before  their  surrender,  doubtless  intending  the  destruc- 


404  HAUXTBD    HEARTS. 


lion  of  her  «-;i]ii«>r-i  :  but  tin-  .-XJ^^'KMI  came  too  late  t<.r 
their  purpose;  not  until  the  \»->vl  had  heen  stripped  of 
hor  ill-gotten  valuable*.  and  left  to  JUT  fair,  did  the  fire 
reach  the  niiue,  and  blast  and  scatter  to  the  waves  a 
craft  defiled  by  almost  every  form  of  crime. 

S<,  tar  ih.  evidence  was  clear,  thrilling,  and  perfectly 
satisfactory.  AVith  all  his  cross-questioning  and  brow 
beating.  Trump,  the  oily-tongued,  Trump,  the  thunderer, 
failed  to  confuse  these  men,  strong  in  their  simple  self- 
confidence,  or  to  detect  any  contradiction  in  their  testi 
mony. 

And  now  the  captain  of  the  merchantman,  hero  of  both 
of  the  previous  narratives,  was  summoned  to  the  stand. 

The  appearance  and  bearing  of  this  young  man  cre 
ated  a  marked  sensation.  And  well  it  might.  Drowned 
by  his  own  a<  -t  live  years  ago,  identified  beyond  a  doubt, 
and  buried  in  an  outcast's  grave,  he  had  risen  at  length, 
and  come  hither  to  the  judgment  ! 

"  Your  name?"  questioned  the  attorney. 

"  George  Rawle." 

"  Formerly  of  New  Jersey,  now  master  of  the  bark 
Antelope?" 

u  The  same,  sir." 

Ay!  the  same.  Years  of  exile,  struggle,  toil,  had 
invigorated  his  manhood,  knit  his  sinewy  frame  nu  in 
firmly,  embrowned  his  cheek,  and  shaded  his  smooth 
features  with  a  l.eard  of  luxuriant  growth.  Many  an 
associate  of  his  boyhood  and  youth  might  have  been 
deceived  by  the  disguise  that  time  and  change  had  put 


THE   PRINCIPAL    WITNESS.  405 

upon  him,  but  the  eye  that  had  loved  him,  never.  Or  had 
form  and  expression  been  metamorphosed,  which  they 
were  not,  the  first  notes  of  his  clear,  ringing  voice  would 
have  sounded  in  the  ears  of  some  there  present  like 
responses  to  the  trump  that  wakes  the  dead. 

Yes,  it  was  George  Rawle  !  our  Geordie  !  another,  and 
yet  the  same  !  The  fact  was  beyond  question.  Buried 
out  of  sight  for  five  long  years,  he  had  come  back  at  last 
to  claim  as  a  right  his  name  and  place  among  men. 

But  the  right  was  almost  instantly  challenged.  Al 
ready  Angie's  champion,  the  ubiquitous  constable,  was 
whispering  significantly  in  the  ear  of  Trump,  and  be 
fore  the  government  attorney  could  address  another 
question  to  his  witness  the  counsel  for  the  defendants 
forestalled  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  my  legal  brother,"  he  ex 
claimed,  addressing  himself  to  the  judge,  "  or  to  disap 
point  him  by  throwing  discredit  upon  his  principal  wit 
ness  ;  but  your  honor  will  justify  me,  I  hope,  in  entering 
a  protest  against  this  testimony,  and  warning  the  gentle 
men  of  the  jury  against  lending  an  ear  to  falsehood. 
The  man  upon  the  stand  is  himself  a  living  lie,  your 
honor.  The  individual  whom  he  claims  to  represent 
has  been  dead  for  several  years.  I  have  witnesses  here 
ready  to  testify  to  the  fact." 

But  Trump  was  scattering  his  words  to  the  air. 
Other  and  contrary  testimony  to  that  he  had  at  hand, 
was  nearer,  truer,  more  touchingly  real. 

"  Let  me  over,  I  say  !     Stand  back,  you  upstart  feller, 


406  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

or  I'll  knock  you  down !  "  was  shouted  a  few  steps  in 
the  lawyer's  rear.  One  stalwart  leg,  cased  in  home 
spun  kersey,  was  thrust  across  the  rail,  and  a  common 
cart-whip  was  threateningly  raised  against  a  deputy 
sheriff,  who  was  vainly  striving  to  force  back  the  in 
truder.  "  Geordie,  my  boy,  God  bless  ycr !  "  was  the 
eager,  tremulous  cry  that  succeeded,  as  flinging  the  other 
leg  over  the  barrier,  and  thrusting  hack  the  sheriff  with 
a  vehemence  that  scorned  all  opposition,  old  Van  Hausen 
half  bounded,  half  tumbled  among  the  circle  of  startled 
lawyers.  Geordie  saw,  sprang,  met  him  halt'  wav,  and 
tears  started  to  iho  eyes  of  both  strong  men,  while  two 
hard  hands  were  clasped,  each  as  in  a  vice. 

"  It's  him  !  "  broke  from  the  trembling  lips  of  the  old 
carpenter,  a<  touch  confirmed  the  evidence  of  sight  :  and 
again  looking  round  to  the  wondering  audience  as  if  for 
sympathy,  —  u  it's  him  !  it's  our  Geordie,  as  I'm  alive  ! 
it's  my  own  boy,  hearty  and  four  square  as  ' 
all  !  Fur  God's  sake,  where  did  yer  come  from,  Geor 
die?"  stammered  forth  the  simple  old  man,  the  hand 
that  was  disengaged  laid  inquiringly,  tenderly,  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder.  "  "Why,  man,  we'd  gin  ycr  up 
for  dead  years  ago." 

It  was  an  all  engrossing  emotion  which  this  meeting 
awakened.  In  the  intensity  of  the  moment,  both  George 
and  Van  Ilausen  had  bei-n  indifferent  to  tin;  gaze  of  a 
thon>and  M rangers,  had  e\  i-n  looked  to  them  for  sympa 
thy.  But  already  the  former's  attention  was  wandering  ; 
Van  Hausen's  question  was  a  natural  and  imperative 
outburst,  but  it  fell  unheard. 


THE    PRINCIPAL    WITNESS.  407 

Already  George's  eyes  were  wandering  over  the  sea  of 
curious,  upturned  faces,  and  all  his  senses  were  strained 
but  mute  attendants  to  his  beating  heart.  For  slowly, 
steadily  approaching,  in  a  species  of  triumphal  progress 
that  would  have  been  a  mockery  had  the  occasion  been 
one  whit  less  real,  was  a  grotesque  object, — a  figure  so 
shrunken,  so  insignificant,  so  thin  and  shadowy,  as  would 
certainly  have  been  swamped  in  the  crowd,  but  that 
borne  aloft  on  the  shoulders  of  two  men  in  sailors'  dress, 
and  moving  with  sailors'  undulating  tread,  it  swayed 
gradually  but  surely  to  the  front.  Its  very  strangeness 
proved  its  passport ;  the  crowd  parted  before  it ;  even  the 
court  officials  drew  back,  forgetful  of  their  duty,  and, 
without  opposition,  heralded  indeed  by  the  buzz  and 
rumor  that  their  approach  awakened,  the  exultant  rol 
licking  mariners  came  on.  Poor,  half-drunken  sailors 
they  were,  but  their  elation  of  spirit  was  well-timed, 
and  favored  the  accomplishment  of  their  purpose.  In 
spired  partly  by  grog,  partly  by  the  novelty  of  their 
task,  and  wholly  undismayed  by  numbers  or  the  dig 
nity  of  the  occasion,  these  self-appointed  trophy  bearers 
never  paused  nor  flinched,  but  making  straight  for  the 
charmed  ring,  the  legal  sanctum  within  which*  George 
and  Van  Hausen  had  just  clasped  hands,  they  gained  the 
railing,  and  elevated  their  burden  triumphantly  above  it. 

With  one  bound  George  had  freed  himself  from  Van 
Hausen's  grasp,  and  cleared  the  space  betwixt  him  and 
the  barrier ;  and  with  manly  arms,  stretched  wide  to 
claim  the  proffered  gift,  and  his  heart  aglow  with  a 


408  HAUNTED  HEARTS. 

warm,  instinctive  throb,  the  earliest,  purest  throb  a 
human  heart  can  ever  know,  he  received  his  poor  old 
mother,  aiid  folded  her  to  his  brea.-t. 

Van  Hausen,  bewildered,  incredulous  of  the  possibility 
of  what  was  passiug  before  his  eyes,  held  up  his  hands 
in  sheer  amazement ;  the  grave  judge  on  the  bench 
neglected,  in  the  interest  of  the  scene,  to  have  tin*  eourt 
eallrd  to  order;  the  lawyers  involuntarily  paused  in  the 
labor  of  weighing  any  other  evidence  than  that  of  their 
senses;  the  jury,  forgetting  to  be  arbiters,  \\viv  conscious 
only  that  they  were  men,  and  the  audience,  taking  ad 
vantage  dl-  the  distraction  on  the  part  of  the  authorities 
or  carried  away  by  an  enthusiasm  of  sympathy  which 
would  not  be  repressed,  sent  up  a  simultaneous  cheer. 

This  last  was  so  manifestly  out  of  place  and  unallow 
able,  that  the  first  outburst  of  it  recalled  every  respon 
sible  man  to  his  post.  Before  it  could  be  repeated  the 
crier  stood  up  and  enjoined  silence,  the  sheriff  and 
his  constables  proceeded  to  enforce  it,  and  immediately 
silence  succeeded ;  a  silence  more  impressive  and  sympa 
thetic  even  than  the  previous  burst  of  cheer.  By  this 
time,  too,  the  witness  on  the  stand  had  recovered  his 
self-possession  ;  the  little  old  woman  who.-.-  arrival  upon 
the  scene,  had  created  so  serious  a  di.-turbamv,  had 
been  handed  over  to  the  care  and  protection  of  Van 
Hausen,  and  George,  with  folded  arms,  and  a  calmness 
that  proved  the  masterly  self-control  of  the  young  man, 
stood  awaiting  further  examination. 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  409 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE    DENUNCIATION. 

As  we,  none  of  us,  while  yet  in  the  flesh,  can  know 
what  it  is  to  die,  .so  none  of  us,  with  rare  exceptions,  can 
know  what  it  is  to  welcome  back  the  dead,  or  those 
believed  to  be  such.  In  intensity  and  degree  the  emotion 
can  only  be  compared  to  the  shock  of  sudden  bereave 
ment  ;  but  even  that  is  a  less  amazing  fact,  since  sooner 
or  later  all  must  die,  while  the  law  can  never  be  broken 
but  by  a  miracle  which  forbids  soul  and  body,  once  parted, 
to  be  reunited  in  the  flesh.  As  the  earth  seems  to  fall 
from  beneath  our  feet  when  one  who  is  walking  life's 
path  with  us  suddenly  sinks  into  the  grave,  so  at  his  re 
appearance,  it  must  be  as  if  heaven  itself  had  stooped  and 
dropped  a  blessing  down,  —  a  blessing  which  faith  has 
promised  hereafter,  but  which  no  ray  of  hope  has  taught 
us  to  look  for  here. 

In  these   days  of  terrible   uncertainty,  long  suspense, 

premature  despair,  which  are  breaking  hearts  all  over 

this  our  land,  such  instances  of  earthly  resurrection  may 

not  be  rare.     God  grant  that  there  may  be  many  such 

35 


410  //   I  I     \    /  /   /'     //  1.ARTS. 

gleams  of   rapture  breaking    through    tin-  (loud-  heavy 
with  a  nation's  pain.     God  grant   that   the  lives  of  the 
lost  may  be  so  pure  from  every  stain  that  if  found  I 
they  may  be  found  spotless,  and  be  welcomed  back  like 
the  pearl  of  great  price. 

Such  a  welcome  did  old  Van  Hanson's  honest  hear:. 
and  Hannah's  -tern  one,  give  to  George.  But,  alas.!  for 
his  mother  and  Angle  ! 

Already,  evading  Van  Hauscn's  charge.  Margery  had 
crouched  down  upon  the  lowest  step  of  the  little  platform 
which  constituted  the  witness  stand.  With  her  knees 
drawn  up  beneath  her  narrow  dress  of  black  bomba/.eti.  , 
her  hands  clasped  and  tightly  compressed  above  them, 
and  her  little  wizened  face  peering  out  from  the  wide 
cap-border  and  tall  poke  bonnet,  which  made  her  features 
look  even  more  miniature  and  quaint  than  Nature  had 
designed  them,  she  sat,  now  cast  ing  an  agonized  look  upon 
her  son,  now  fixing  a  defiant  gaze  upon  the  assembled 
court.  Like  a  startled  bird,  panting,  frightened,  but 
every  whit  a  mother,  who  has  planted  herself  on  the  edge 
of  her  nest  between  danger  and  her  brood,  so  the  trem 
bling  little  woman,  perched  at  her  .-mi's  feet,  between 
him  and  the  officers  of  the  dread  tribunal  before  which  he 
stood,  felt,  no  doubt,  as  if  her  mere  presence  there  kepi  the 
hounds  of  the  law  at  bay.  For  what  did  she  know  of 
e..urts  except  that  they  judged  men  to  death?  <>r.  knowing 
all  else  that  she  knew,  for  what  could  she  su.-pcci  that 
her  son  stood  there  except  to  be  doomed  ? 

At  George's  sudden  reappearance,  at  the  first  sound 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  411 

of  his  voice,  Angle's  heart  had  leaped  up,  then  as  sud 
denly  ceased  to  beat ;  the  hot  blood  had  rushed  to  her 
face  and  scorched  her  brain,  to  be  succeeded  by  deadly 
paleness,  and  clammy  drops  of  sweat  that  started  out 
upon  her  brow.  She  had  first  sprung  to  her  feet,  then 
dropped  heavily  upon  her  knees,  in  which  latter  attitude 
she  continued,  fixed  as  stone,  her  hands  grasping  the  rail 
that  ran  around  the  gallery,  her  chin  supported  by  her 
hands.  These  were  but  faint  indications  of  the  emotions 
that  seized  and  alternated  within  her  ;  — joy  and  horror, 
longing  and  dread,  thanksgiving  and  despair.  Packed  as 
the  gallery  was  behind  her,  impossible  as  it  was  for  her 
to  move,  her  first  impulse  would  have  been  to  turn  and 
endeavor  to  struggle  to  him  through  the  crowd,  but  for 
the  contrary  impulse  which  bade  her  rather  keep  quiet, 
deny  his  indentity,  beseech  him,  by  some  imploring 
gesture,  to  depart,  fly,  bury  himself  once  more  in  obliv 
ion.  Excited,  unreasoning,  mad  with  love  and  fear,  her 
senses  first  reeled,  then  seemed  benumbed ;  joy  proved 
but  a  deeper  shock  of  pain,  relief  but  an  aggravation  of 
woe. 

But  no  one  observed  all  this.  She  made  no  noise. 
Her  sudden  starting  up  was  only  the  prelude  to  a  similar 
act  on  the  part  of  many,  who,  on  the  strange  apparition 
of  Margery,  rose  up,  and  even  leaned  far  over  the  gallery, 
to  watch  her  novel  and  eccentric  progress  through  the 
crowd ;  or,  if  Angie's  breath  came  quick  and  hard,  and 
her  breast  heaved  with  something  between  a  shriek  of 
rapture  and  a  groan  of  despair,  these  symptoms  of  agita- 


412  HAUNTED   HEART  S. 

tion  and  agony  were  >\\all<>\\vd  up  in  the  congratulatory 
cheering  and  clapping  of  hands,  which  wore  simulta 
neous. 

Hannah's  emotions,  however,  were  more  obstreperous 
and  voluble.  "  It's  George  Rawle  !  "  she  cried,  grasping 
Angie  by  the  arm.  u  Lord  bless  me  !  am  I  in  the  body 
or  out  on't?  Who  said  he  was  dead?  This  world's  made 
up  o'  lies  ;  it's  our  George  or  else  it's  his  ghost ;  an'  tain't 
no  ghost  nuther,  for  he  never  looked  so  hale  and  hearty 
in  his  life.  That's  right !  shake  hands  with  him,  Dick  !" 
as  she  continued  her  observations  ;  and  again,  "  I  vum, 
if  there  ain't  our  Margery  comin'  inter  court  a  pig  back  \ 
O  Lud!  what's  comin'  next?  O  Lud !  O  Lud !  that  I 
should  live  to  see  the  lad  agin,  —  in  this  here  court-h'us 
too  !  Why,  it's  like  the  fmdin*  o'  Joseph  in  Egypt  !  " 

Hannah's  exclamations  and  her  soliloquy  (it  was  truly 
the  latter,  for  she  addressed  no  one,  she  did  not  even 
claim  Angle's  attention)  were  so  protracted,  that  when 
the  sudden  hush  was  enforced  in  the  court-room  they  be 
came  audible,  and  not  only  absorbed  for  a  moment  the 
interest  of  those  about  her,  but  would  have  proved  an  in 
terruption  to  the  trial  had  she  not  been  almost  instantly 
checked  hy  the  restraining  and  monitory  gestures  of  the 
fine  lady  next  her,  as  well  as  by  a  deputy  sheriff  who  had 
entered  the  gallery  purposely  to  enforce  silence,  and  who 
tapju-d  her  with  his  pole  just  in  time  to  prevent  her  at 
tracting  the  attention  of  George  himself,  which  she  was 
apparently  endeavoring  to  do. 

"  This  is  all  very  well ;  quite  dramatic,  indeed  !  "  were 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  413 

the  words  with  which  Trump  first  broke  the  pause  that  suc 
ceeded  the  congratulations  of  the  audience.  "  It  is  a  well- 
conceived  scene  ;  my  legal  brother  deserves  great  credit 
for  the  exhibition.  The  young  man's  friends  seem  to  be 
very  glad  to  see  him  back  from  his  voyage.  If  I  were  one 
of  his  friends,  I  have  no  doubt  I  should  be  very  glad  to 
see  him  myself;  but  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  must  be 
aware  that  all  this  fails  to  establish  a  good  character  for 
the  witness,  or  to  prove  that  he  is  the  man  he  claims  to 
be.  If  the  court  will  allow,  I  should  like  to  put  a  few 
questions  to  him." 

The  doubt  and  suspicion  thus  suggested  grated  against 
the  universal  sympathy  in  a  scene  whose  genuineness  no 
body  could  justly  question.  The  judge  even  hesitated 
about  acceding  to  Trump's  motion,  but  in  default  of  a 
positive  prohibition,  the  lawyer  commenced  his  cross- 
questioning. 

"How  long  have  you  been  absent  from  the  country?" 

"Just  five  years." 

"  And  your  family  have  heard  nothing  from  you  all 
this  while?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  believed  you  dead?  " 

"  So  it  seems." 

"  Such  mysterious  disappearances  are  very  unusual, 
young  man,"  —  spoken  sarcastically. 

"  They  are,  sir,  thank  Heaven." 

"  How  came  you  to  leave  your  home  and  country  in 
such  haste  as  to  admit  of  no  leave-taking  or  knowledge 
35* 


•ill  //  r  r  v  r  K  i>   ///•:.-!  n  / 

of  your  whereabouts?  In  my  le-_ral  experience,  when 
men  run  away.  disappear,  sei-k  to  be  forgotten,  it  is  gen 
erally  for  some  good  reason  —  or  some  lad  reason 
rather." 

Then-  wa>  more  than  insinuation  in  Trump's  tone, — 
there  was  insolence  and  menace  ;  his  face,  too,  wore  the 
threatening  frown,  which  it  alway-  a--nme<l  when  he 
desired  to  browbeat  a  wit  in 

The  young  man  colored,  and  for  an  instant  became 
confused  —  precisely  what  the  lawyer  had  intended. 

"  Unless,"  he  continued,  improving  his  advantage, 
"you  can  account  for  yourself,  and  prove  your  identity 
more  satisfactorily,  why.  the  jury  must  take  your  evi 
dence  for  what  it  i.-  worth,  and  no  more." 

George  had  been  embarrassed  at  the  very  first  words 
of  the  lawyer's  question ;  but  he  was  in  no  degree 
cowed.  Trump  had  mistaken  his  man,  and  gone  too 
far.  As  collected  and  as  cool  now  as  if  on  the  deck  of 
his  own  ship,  with  his  clear  blue  eye  full  of  honest  indig 
nation,  and  his  lip  proudly  set,  lie  turned  deliberately  away 
from  the  lawyer,  and  with  the  manly  instinct  of  one  who 
knows  his  own  rights,  appealed  to  the  pro-ding  judge. 

"If  I  understand  ari-ht.  your  honor,  I  have  been 
calle'd  here  to  state  what  I  know  of  the  mode  of  life  of  the 
prisoner- at  the  bar,  and  not  my  own  experiences.  If  you 
command  me  to  give  an  explanation  of  my  motives  and 
actions,  sir,  I  shall  do  my  best  to  obey  orders,  but  other- 
I  <hould  pref-r  to  lie  exeiiM-d  from  answering  ques 
tions  which  I  deny  any  man'-  right  to  a>k." 


THE   DENUNCIATION.  415 

A  murmur  of  approbation  succeeded  this  assertion  of 
independence.  "  Mr.  Trump,"  remarked  the  judge  in 
reply,  "  I  think  the  witness  justified  in  his  objection  to 
your  question.  After  what  we  have  heard  and  wit 
nessed,  any  further  discussion  of  his  identity  is  trivial. 
If  you  propose  to  sift  his  private  character,  an  opportunity 
for  that  may  arise  later  in  the  trial.  For  the  present  I 
rule  that  the  attorney  for  the  prosecution  be  permitted  to 
resume  his  examination." 

"  Though  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  guilty  of  putting  my 
questions  in  so  offensive  a  form  as  that  my  legal  brother 
has  thought  proper  to  employ,"  now  remarked  the  govern 
ment  attorney,  "he  has  to  some  degree  forestalled  the  very 
first  inquiry  which  I  proposed  making.  It  has  appeared, 
in  the  evidence  already  before  us,  Captain  Rawle,  that 
your  ship  was  steering  considerably  off  her  course  when 
the  pirate  hove  in  sight,  and  that  in  your  pursuit  and 
capture  of  her  you  expended  an  amount  of  time  and  zeal 
inconsistent  with  your  interest  as  a  shipmaster  and  with 
that  of  your  owners.  By  way  of  satisfying  the  jury  on 
this  point,  I  trust  you  have  no  objection  to  furnishing 
such  a  statement  of  facts  as  will  be  explanatory  of  your 

» 

motive  and  its  cause." 

"  None  whatever,  sir." 

"Your  zeal,  then,  in  the  detection  and  arrest  of  pirates. 
To  what  is  that  due  ?  " 

"  To  five  years  of  bondage,  and  cruelty,  and  hard  labor 
imposed  on  me  by  men  of  their  stamp  ;  to  my  knowing  what 
it  is  to  be  my  own  master,  and  what  it  is  to  be  a  slave  ;  to 


416  HA  I     \   / •/. i>    If  L- ARTS. 

the  chains  that  have  eaten  rny  flesh  to  the  bone"  (and 
turning  up  the  >lecve  of  a  rough  pea-jarket  which  he  wore, 
IK-  di>playeil.  ju-t  al»u\c  his  wrist,  a  ghastly  groove  that 
encircled  it,  the  effects  of  a  long  corroding  wound)  ;  "  and 
more  than  this,"  he  added,  replacing  his  sleeve,  and  look 
ing  down  upon  his  mother,  with  that  tender,  l»oyi>h  smile 
of  his,  tempered  now  by  the  sterner  sufferings  of  his 
manhood,  u  more  than  all  to  the  homesickness  that  has 
eaten  into  my  heart." 

"  When  and  where  did  you  encounter  pirates?  " 

44  In  the  Mediterranean,  on  my  first  voyage." 

44  And  you  were  taken  prisoner?  " 

44  All  of  us,  sir.  I  was  before  the  mast,  but  that  made 
no  difference  ;  officers  and  men,  weak  and  strong,  they 

treated  us  all  alike." 

» 

44  And  took  you  to ?  " 

44  Algiers.  For  three  years  I  labored  there  like  a 
galley  slave,  a  delicate  lad,  passenger  in  our  ship, 
chained  to  my  arm.  We  were  never  once  separated, 
though  he  sickened  and  came  near  dying.  We  might  be 
there  yet,  alive  or  dead,  but  for  Decatur  and  the  rest  — 
God  Mr-  Ym!" 

A  fresh  bu/z  of  interest  and  enthusiasm  now  eirm- 
lated  through  the  court-room.  There  are  but  few  mem 
bers  of  a  free  community,  however  illiterate,  who  are 
wholly  ijrnorant  of  tin-  lii-ti.ri«-al  events  of  their  own  day. 
Our  recont  sue'  .lin-t  the  Barbary  States,  and  the 

deliverance  of  the  unfortunate  captives,  had  every  when- 
been  subjects  of  familiar  talk  and  discussion,  and  an  in- 


THE  DENUNCIATION.  417 

dividual  just  rescued  by  our  national  prowess  from  the 
hated  corsair  was  at  once  brought  into  personal  and  fra 
ternal  relations  with  every  American  citizen.  What  with 
these  facts,  and  the  simple  manliness  with  which  they 
were  narrated,  there  was  scarcely  a  person  present  who 
would  not  eagerly  have  emulated  Van  Hausen  in  shaking 
hands  with  George,  —  which,  at  this  crisis,  the  old  man 
came  forward  and  did  over  again,  with  more  heartiness, 
if  possible,  than  before. 

"  I  think  we  have  here  a  sufficient  justification  of  the 
motive  which  took  Captain  Rawle's  ship  as  many  points 
off  her  course  as  the  counsel  for  the  accused  may  prove 
her  to  have  been,"  remarked  the  attorney,  with  difficulty 
concealing,  under  a  show  of  moderation,  his  triumph  in 
the  sensation  produced  by  his  witness.  "  It  has  been 
reported  that  the  principal  on  the  indictment,  Bullet, 
learned  his  trade  among  the  African  corsairs  ;  however 
this  may  be,  his  reputation  as  the  king  of  pirates  has  been 
so  long  established  that  Captain  Rawle  owed  him  a  very 
natural  grudge,  and  could  afford  to  go  out  of  his  way  to 
gratify  it." 

"I  owe  no  man  a  grudge,"  said  George,  promptly  tak 
ing  up  the  word  in  response  to  this  insinuation.  "God,  who 
has  afflicted  me  in  justice,  and  delivered  me  in  mercy,  for 
bid.  My  duty  is  to  Him  who  has  had  pity  on  me,  to  the 
country  that  has  rescued  me,  and  to  all  brave  tars  whom 
I  had  the  power,  in  my  turn,  to  save  from  such  a  fate  as 
mine.  If  there  is  a  man  on  earth  who  might  well  be 
believed,  who  has  had  cause,  indeed,  to  act  in  this  case 


418  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

from  personal  enmity  and  revenge,  I  am  that  man  ;  but  I 
have  acted  from  no  such  motive,  no  such  feeling,  so  help 
me  Heaven." 

There  was  a  solemnity  and  fervor  in  this  asseveration 
for  which  no  one  was  prepared.  It  gave  dignity  and 
Lrraii'leur  to  what  might  otherwise  have  seemed  merely 
an  ad  tif  retaliation.  It  gave  added  weight,  too,  to  the 
succeeding  testimony. 

"  And  your  owners?"  continued  the  attorney.  "  You 
had  their  license  for  your  attempt  to  suppress  piracy  ?  " 

"  The  license  was  in  my  instructions.  The  court  will 
not  wonder  that  my  owners  fitted  out  the  Antelope  so 
that  she  could  face  a  pirate,  when  I  state  that  one  of 
them,  a  merchant  in  Surinam,  is  father  of  the  lad  who 
was  my  fellow-prisoner,  and  who  all  but  died  of  the  hard 
ships  he  had  to  suffer  in  Algiers.  The  vessel,  too,  which 
was  captured,  together  with  ourselves,  was  mostly  the  pro 
perty  of  their  firm.  If  the  owners  had  had  no  other 
reason  for  putting  me  in  master  of  the  Antelope,  I  think 
it  would  have  been  enough  that  they  knew  if  a  chance 
came  for  bearing  down  on  any  craft  that  sailed  under 
the  bla< -k  flai:.  it  was  a  duty  I'd  never  turn  my  back  on." 

This  answer  was  so  satisfactory,  the  evidence  on  this 
point  so  conclusive,  that  the  attorney  now  turned  his 
attention  to  testimony  that  bore  directly  against  the  ac 
cused.  It  :i  thnuiL'hout  in  that  graphic,  laconic 
style,  pe< -uliar  to  men  of  active  occupation  and  *imj>le 
character  ;  here  and  there  a  .-ea  phrase,  or  a  rustic  allu 
sion,  marked  the  witness  as  a  man  whose  education  had 


THE   DENUNCIATION.  419 

been  that  of  deep  and  stirring  events  and  experiences, 
rather  than  of  the  schools  of  learning  ;  but  so  intelligent 
was  George's  narrative,  so  unpretending  in  its  concise 
ness,  that  it  confirmed  all  the  proof  that  had  gone  before, 
and,  so  far  as  it  went,  carried  with  it  conviction. 

But  after  all,  there  was  a  deficiency  in  the  evidence  ; 
two  essential  links  were  wanting.  The  attorney  unfortu 
nately  had  boasted  early  in  the  day  of  more  than  one 
point  which  he  had  no  means  of  proving,  and  the 
opposing  counsel  did  not  forget  to  put  him  to  the  test. 

"  Captain  Rawle,"  said  the  latter,  an  opportunity  being 
given  him  at  last  to  resume  his  cross-questioning,  "  sup 
posing  we  grant  all  the  crimes  imputed  to  the  pirate 
Bullet  by  the  foregoing  witnesses,  can  you  swear,  on 
your  own  knowledge,  that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  that 
man?" 

"  I  can  only  state  my  belief." 

"  I  do  not  ask  what  you  believe,  but  what  you  know." 

"  I  cannot,  then." 

"  Ah  !  "  with  an  ironical  emphasis  ;  then  resuming  an 
interrogatory  tone,  "  supposing  it  proved  that  the  vessel 
commanded  by  the  aforesaid  Bullet  was  a  pirate  ship, 
and  fitted  out  accordingly,  can  you  swear  that  the  vessel, 
whose  destruction  you  witnessed,  was  his  vessel  ?  " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Ah  !  "  again. 

And  here  there  was  an  ominous  pause.  A  loophole 
was  evidently  opening,  by  which  these  dreaded  criminals 
might  escape  after  all.  Every  body  looked  confounded. 


420  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

A  deep  gloom  and  api  i  bojrau  to  settle  upon 

the  audience. 

"  Is  your  evidence  all  in?"  inquired  the  judge  of  the 
prosecuting  attorney. 

The  latter  fumbled  his  papers  nervously,  whispered 
with  his  colleague,  hesitated,  and  then  said  he  believed 
(hat  it  was. 

"  And  yours?  "  to  the  prisoners'  counsel. 

••  \Ve  have  none  to  bring  forward,  your  honor.  The 
nature  of  the  case  forbids  it  to  my  unfortunate  clients.  — 
dragged  hither  from  a  foreign  clime,  and  compelled  to 
take  their  chance  of  a  trial  in  the  midst  of  a  prejudiced 
community,  and  destitute  of  the  support  and  countenance 
of  their  compatriots  and  friends.  Fortunately,  your 
honor,  they  require  no  such  extraneous  aid.  The  incom 
pleteness  and  fallacy  of  the  testimony  brought  forward 
against  them  is  a  sufficient  refutation  of  the  indictment. 
I  do  not  need  to  expend  much  strength  on  this  occasion  ; 
the  weakness  of  my  opponent  is  my  guarantee,  and  will, 
I  am  confident,  insure  a  verdict  of  acquittal  from  this  in 
telligent  jury  so  soon  as  I  am  permitted  to  make  a  fair 
statement  of  the  case." 

These  were  mere  words  of  course,  but  Trump's  air  of 
security  and  self-confidence  indicated  a  reserved  force,  by 
means  of  which,  knowing  his  adversary's  weak  points,  he 
would  by  and  by  effectually  undermine  him  ;  and  when 
the  experienced  counsellor,  who  was  to  address  the  jury 
on  behalf  of  the  prosecution,  rose  to  commence  his  task, 
if  he  did  not  tremble,  every  body  trembled  for  him. 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  421 

But  before  he  had  uttered  a  syllable,  when  he  had  just 
raised  his  right  arm  to  enforce  the  opening  phrases  of  his 
argument,  the  attorney  at  his  side  gave  a  start  of  surprise, 
and  arrested  the  gesture  of  his  colleague,  as,  seizing  him 
by  the  arm,  he  exclaimed,  "  By  the  lord  Harry,  here 
comes  Bly !  They're  bringing  him  in  just  in  time ! 
We're  all  right  now ! "  and  the  attorney  rubbed  his 
hands,  and  actually  chuckled  with  glee. 

It  was  true.  Bly,  too  feeble  to  walk,  was  at  this 
moment  brought  in  on  a  straw  mattress,  hastily  mounted 
on  one  of  the  narrow  prison  doors.  He  was  stretched  at 
full  length,  and  lay  so  stiff  and  helpless  as  to  prove  a 
dead  weight  to  his  carriers.  His  features,  too,  were  so 
pinched,  his  lips  so  unnaturally  compressed,  the  whole 
face  so  colorless,  that  those  who  were  in  the  way  of  his 
entrance  moved  aside  with  involuntary  awe  to  permit  the 
passage,  as  they  believed,  of  a  corpse.  Only  the  attorney, 
who  had  seen  him  look  just  so  in  the  prison,  could  have 
hoped  to  wring  living  testimony  from  this  human  clod ; 
only  one  who  was  a  sharer  in  the  secrets  of  which  he 
kept  the  key  could  have  feared  the  unlocking  of  those 
lips.  As  it  was,  the  attorney  experienced  an  exultant 
thrill,  while  that  other,  who,  from  her  vantage  post  at 
the  front  of  the  gallery,  overlooked  the  scene  that  was 
enacting  below,  felt  all  the  suspense,  the  horror,  the 
dread  that  had  haunted  her  heart  for  years  concentrated 
into  one  moment's  agony.  Yes,  worse,  a  thousand  times 
worse  than  her  utmost  fear  had  conjured  up  was  this 
moment  realized,  for  the  accuser  and  the  accused  were 
36 


}-"  HAUNTED    HE  A  11  I  | 

met,  face  to  fare.  The  grave  had  Driven  up  its  dead  ;  but 
what  power  now  could  avert  the  judgment? 

When  Mi-prnse,  the  suspense  of  years,  has  culminated  ; 
win -n  the  crisis  is  reached,  and  the  final  Mow  aimed,  the 
soul  does  not  at  once  recoil;  it  stands  upright,  it  braces 
itself  for  the  charge,  and  meets  the  >h«»«-k  with  the  firm 
ness  that  desperation  gives.  How  AiiLrie  looked.  <>r  what 
she  endured  at  this  moment,  it  is  not  for  yon.  nor  me, 
nor  herself,  ever  to  know.  .It  is  enouirh  that  she  was 
neither  stunned,  nor  crazed,  nor  stupefied ;  that,  noise 
less,  motionless,  breathless,  with  an  intensity  of  all  her 
powers,  which  crowded  years  of  common  life  into  that 
awful  moment,  she  watched  and  waited  for  the  end. 

At  a  sign  from  the  attorney,  George  had  stepped  down 
from  the  witness-stand,  and  taking  a  position  just  opposite, 
stood  leaning  against  the  dock.  He  hud  vacated  his  for 
mer  post  to  make  way  for  the  stretcher  that  bore  the 
new  witness,  which  was  about  to  be  deposited  there. 
Apparently  he  had  not  recognized  his  old  comrade ;  in 
deed,  he  had  scarcely  caught  sight  of  him,  for  the  porters, 
staggering  under  their  load,  carried  him  low,  and  bent 
over  their  burden  in  such  a  way  as  partially  to  conceal  it. 
Not  until  Bly,  relieved  from  the  agony  he  had  suill-ivd 
in  the  process  of  transportation,  opened  his  eyes,  and 
rolled  them  wildly  around  him.  did  George  become 
transfixed  by  their  stare;  not  until,  borrowing  >tiviii:th 
from  the  excitt -inent  of  the  occasion,  Bly  gathered  up 
hi<  limbs  and  scrambled,  like  a  fallen  beast,  first  to  his 
knees,  and  then,  by  the  aid  of  his  attendants,  to  his  feet, 


THE    DENUNCIATION. 

did  George  suspect  his  identity.  But  then,  as  the  face, 
disfigured  by  disease,  and  branded  by  moral  scars,  was 
jerked  impatiently  from  one  side  of  the  house  to  the 
other,  and  the  eyes  at  length  fastening  on  their  object, 
glared  in  his  direction  as  if  gloating  on  their  prey,  while 
a  scowl  of  malignant  determination  darkened  the  face 
even  more  fearfully  than  before  —  then  he  knew  him. 

Meanwhile,  in  a  mechanical,  abstracted  way,  Bly  had 
submitted  to  the  process  of  being  sworn,  and  the  court 
were  prepared  to  listen  to  his  testimony. 

"  "Well,  Bly,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  with 
difficulty  repressing  any  other  symptoms  of  his  exuber 
ant  gratification  and  triumph  than  were  indicated  by  a 
diligent  rubbing  of  his  hands,  and  complacent  nodding 
of  his  head,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  come  to 
give  your  evidence  of  crimes  that  you  know  more  about, 
I  suspect,  than  any  of  us.  Mind  now,  my  good  fellow," 
he  proceeded,  in  a  cautious,  conciliatory  tone,  "  I  don't 
ask  you  to  commit  yourself  any  more  than  you  can  help. 
I  only  want  you  to  point  out  your  partners  in  any  trans 
action  you.  may  have  been  engaged  in,  and  to  give  a 
correct  account  of  the  affair,  so  far  as  they  were  con 
cerned." 

The  jaws,  no  longer  compressed  by  a  resolution  of 
silence,  but  rigid  with  suppressed  passion,  parted  at  this, 
quivered  and  rattled  an  instant,  as  with  an  ague-fit,  then, 
heavy  with  the  weight  of  matter  that  struggled  to  find 
vent,  came  to  a  dead-lock. 

"  Speak  out,  my  man,"  said  the  watchful  attorney,  in 


424  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

an  encouraging  tone,  while  every  ear  in  the  audience  was 
strained  t<>  ealeh  wnnU,  at  the  mere  >u-picic>n  of  wlm-e 
import  the  air  seemed  resonant.  The  wretched  witne.-s 
was  such  a  liviiig  testimonial  to  crime  and  its  conse 
quences,  that  proof  of  it  seemed  to  emanate  from  his 
:i,  and  thicken  the  very  atmosphere  in  which  ho 
M<»<>d.  —  or  hung  helpless,  rather,  —  for  ho  was  .-till  sup 
ported  by  two  jail  officials,  who  propped  him  under  each 
shoulder,  and  so  enabled  him  t<>  maintain  an  upright 
posture. 

Again  he  attempted  to  give  utterance  to  his  too  eager 
words.  The  result  was  a  gurgle  —  a  prolonged  stammer 
— then  an  exultant  ulla  !  ha  !  "  which  caused  everv  body 
to  shrink  and  shudder,  and  finally  the  first  syllables  hav 
ing  found  voice  and  exit,  a  torrent  of  speech  poured  itself 
forth,  beginning  in  stammers  and  half-articulate  phrases, 
but  ending  in  a  storm  of  invective  and  accusation  which 
defied  all  leading  and  guidance  on  the  part  of  the  counsel 
for  the  prosecution,  as  well  as  all  interruption  from  his 
opponents. 

"  A  —  a  —  a  —  angels,  or  de  —  e  —  e  —  vils  couldn't 
put  a  bit  in  my  mouth  now  !  "  was  his  first  coherent  asser 
tion.  "  They've  tried  it,  both  on  'em.  I've  been  led  by 
the  devil  all  my  life,  an'  when  Ole  Nick,  as  they  call 
me,  turned  agin  such  a  hard  master,  he  came  in  sheep's 
clothin',  an'  irot  the  upper  hand  o*  me  agin  that  "way. 
Yes,  he  sent  an  anyl  (this  h(M  word  was  spoken  with 
terrible  irony)  to  find  out  the  sofl  spot  in  me  an'  gull  me. 
I  believed  her,  the  hussy,  an'  promised  to  keep  dark,  but 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  425 

I've  found  her  out,  an'  that's  why  I'm  here.  There's 
but  one  man  in  this  'ere  world  that  I'd  give  what's  left  o' 
my  poor  life  to  see  kick  the  bucket,  an'  him  —  him," — ' 
here  the  witness  might  be  seen  to  clinch  his  fist,  and  his 
voice,  hitherto  so  choked  by  agitation  and  weakness  as 
to  be  intelligible  to  those  only  who  were  in  his  immediate 
vicinity,  gathered  strength  and  volume,  —  "why,  I'd 
give  my  neck  to  the  halter  any  minute  if  I  could  fust  see 
him  swung  off.  She  told  me  he  was  dead  already,  the 
lyin'  jade  !  an'  so  I  held  my  tongue,  an'  would  ha'  let  it 
rot  there  'fore  I'd  spoke,  fur  what  did  I  care  about  hang- 
in'  half  a  dozen  poor  sailors  that  are  no  wuss  an'  no 
better  than  Avhat  I've  been  myself.  They  might  ha'  got 
off  fur  all  me,  an'  welcome  ;  but  there's  one  man  here 
that  it's  wuth  my  while  to  spend  my  last  breath  in 
blastin'.  You  want  me  to  pint  out  my  partner  in  sin,  — 
the  head  of  the  bizness,  —  <Jp  yer,  sir?"  (to  the  lawyer) 
"Wai,  then,  there  he  stands  !  "  and  raising  his  finger,  the 
finger  of  doom,  a  skeleton  finger,  like  that  of  Death  itself, 
he  aimed  it  with  the  precision  of  fate  in  the  exact  direc 
tion  of  the  young  sea-captain,  who  but  a  moment  before 
had,  by  the  manliness  of  his  deportment  and  testimony, 
created  such  a  universal  predisposition  in  his  favor. 
George  stood  upright  and  unflinching  as  a  rock,  looking 
Bly  full  in  the  face.  There  was  an  instant  of  awful  ex 
pectation. 

u  Yes,"  continued  Bly,  poising  his  head  a  little  on  one 
side,  as  if  better  to  survey  his  victim  ;  then  looking  around 
upon  the  audience  with  greedy  satisfaction  at  the  multi- 
36* 


.{•Jo  HAUXTED    HEARTS. 

tude  assembled  to  witness  his  confession,  "there  stands 

the  man  tliat  fust  dipped  my  hands  in  blood,  when  he. 
murdered, — yes,  he,  not  / — for  he  made  me  do  it, — 
when  we  between  us,  at  any  rate,  beat  out  the  brains  of 
poor  old  Baultic  Hawk-." 

Here  his  words  were  cut  short.  Bly  had  just  boasted 
that  no  power,  whether  of  angel  or  demon,  could  stay  him' 
now,  but  even  he,  decci\rd,  hardened,  implacable  as  he 
was,  paused  and  shuddered  at  the  cry  that  here  went  ri Hir 
ing  and  echoing  through  the  house,  —  a  woman's  cry,  — 
the  short,  sharp  cry  that  comes  from  heart-strings  snapped 
asunder.  The  guardian  spirit  that  hears  a  lost  soul. — 
the  soul  it  has  watched,  tended,  prayed  for,  condemned 
at  the  final  judgment,  —  could  not  ring  out  a  more  fear 
ful  death-knell  to  hope  than  that  human  cry.  At  the 
same  time  two  arms  were  flung  convulsively  in  the  air,  in 
the  manner  of  those  who  ha^ve  experienced  a  fatal  shot, 
and  a  head,  still  young,  and  glorious  with  a  wealth  of 
wavy  hair,  sank.  as  it'  by  its  own  weiirht,  upon  the  breast 
that  still  heaved  with  the  cry  that  had  just  been  wrung 
from  it.  The  next  instant  the  arms  had  dropped  heavily, 
and  the  hands,  just  raised  convulsively  towards  heaven, 
were  spread  as  a  shield  between  a  pale.  In  in  •••r-s  inn  -k 
face,  and  a  thousand  eyes  that  were  in.-tantly  turned  upon 
it.  —  George's  among  tin-  n--t. 

The  gaping  curiosity  of  the  cmud  wa*  baffled  by  the 
natural  .-riven  which  had  buried  the  poor  fare  out  of 
si^ht.  But  the  hair  from  which  the  faded  hood  had 
fallen,  the  delicate  outline  of  the  hands,  the  figure,  half 


THE   DENUNCIATION,  427 

hidden  by  the  old  blue  mandarin,  none  of  these  were 
needed  to  render  George's  recognition  of  Angie  complete 
and  instantaneous.  His  heart  had  been  no  less  true  in 
its  instincts  than  her  own.  The  voice  that  had  been  the 
music  of  his  life  could  not  be  mistaken  even  in  its  wild 
est  discord.  He  knew  her  before  he  looked  up. 

Was  it  pity  for  himself  or  her  which  caused  his  eyes 
to  fall  as  suddenly  as  they  had  been  raised,  and  his  back 
to  be  turned  to  her  despair,  while  he  once  more  faced  the 
witness-stand  ? 

Nor  was  the  diversion  given  to  the  public  eye  more 
than  momentary.  No  secondary  object,  however  impli 
cated  in  the  mysteries  about  to  be  revealed,  could  rival 
Ely  himself,  on  whose  next  words  the  audience  hung 
breathless  ;  and  there  was  no  time  to  be  wasted  in  the 
indulgence  of  idle  curiosity  or  speculation,  unless  they 
would  lose  the  thread  of  his  testimony.  The  interrup 
tion  had  checked  him  for  an  instant  only ;  he  had  even 
managed,  by  the  rapidity  with  which  he  returned  to  the 
charge,  to  baffle  Trump,  who  rose  with  the  design  of 
putting  an  injunction  upon  testimony  which  was  evi 
dently  foreign  to  the  indictment.  He  was  aided,  indeed, 
in  this  by  the  judge,  who,  perceiving  the  difficulty  with 
which  testimony  could  on  any  terms  be  extracted  from 
a  witness  so  shattered  by  disease,  intimated,  by  a  wave 
of  the  hand,  that  he  must  be  suffered  to  tell  his  -story  in 
his  own  way. 

But  there  was  a  marked  change  in  his  voice  and  man 
ner  as  he  proceeded.  Whether  his  first  outburst  of  accu- 


•t'J*  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

sation  had  relieved  his  overcharged  bivaM  ;  whether  he 
experieneed  an  involuntary  awe  and  terror  :it  having 
;_!i\en  form  and  publicity  to  the  crime  that  had  secretly 
haunted  him  so  long ;  whether  "  conscience  waked  de 
spair  that  slumbered,"  or  whether  there  was  still  a  soft 
spot  in  his  heart,  which  Angle's  cry  had  reached,  certain 
it  is  that  the  man,  an  instant  before  so  eager  and  savage 
for  his  proy,  subsided  now  into  a  strain  more  convinc 
ing  and  condemnatory  because  less  wildly  vindictn 
There  was  even  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  retrospective 
protest  with  which  he  continued. 

"Yes.  that  was  tin-  fust  :  I'd  never  known  the  taste  o' 
blood  then  ;  but  fur  him  I  ne\  er  .-In mid  have,  to  this  day, 
for  I  hadn't  a  bad  heart.  God  is  my  witness ; "  and 
here,  by  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  the  voice  of  the 
wn-tehed  criminal  shook  with  the  genuine  tremblings  of 
remorse,  —  a  remorse  that  threatened  next  to  explode  into 
the  sobs  of  a  penitent,  —  "  God  is  my  witness  that  the 
I,  the  voice,  the  white  hairs  of  that  old  man  have 
haunted  me  night  an'  day  ever  since,  an'  driven  me  des- 
prate.  Things  as  bad,  or  wuss,  came  arterwards.  I 
saw  'em  done,  if  I  didn't  have  a  hand  in  'em  ;  but  nothin' 
like  that  to  me,  no,  uothiii'  like  that,  —  stand  a>ide 
G  -i-die  Ifawle.  >tand  aside,  my  man  :  yer  hoin-M  faee 
looks  too  much  like  that  o'  yer  dead  uncle,  —  it  blinds 
my  eyes,"  —  and  lie  drew  the  baek  of  his  hand  across 
tli.-  Minkeii  orli.-,  —  ••  l»e>ide<.  yon  were  n«-ver  made  to 
•i  a  villain.  leaM  ways  this  one  !  " 

Thus  admoiii-hrd,  George  stepped   aside,  bewildered 
by   the    terrible    revelations  of   the    moment,    and  ten- 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  429 

derly  supporting  his  mother,  who,  an  instant  before,  si 
multaneously  with  Angie's  cry,  without  warning,  without 
apparent  motive,  had  rushed  towards  him  with  outspread 
arms,  and  infolded  him,  so  far  as  might  be,  in  the  minia 
ture  shelter  of  her  embrace. 

Shelter  from  what?  Some  phantom  of  her  imagina 
tion  only.  George  was  guiltless  of  every  fault  but  that 
of  intercepting  Ely's  line  of  vision,  and,  as  he  stood  lean 
ing  against  the  dock,  partially  hiding  the  true  object  of 
his  accusation. 

"  That's  right,  Mr.  George  ;  now  I  have  him,  face  to 
face  ; "  and  Bly,  easing  himself  from  the  oblique  position 
in  which  his  head  had  hitherto  been  inclined,  gazed 
straight  at  the  chief  of  the  piratical  gang,  now  more  fully 
exposed  to  his  view,  —  "  I've  told  the  fust ;  listen  now, 
all  on  yer,  while  I  call  this  man  to  answer  fur  some  o' 
the  other  black  deeds  he's  fathered,  under  one  name  or 
another.  I  don't  care  what  high  soundin'  title  he's  bor- 
rerd  or  stolen  fur  this  occasion,  it's  all  the  same  whether 
you  call  him  Hebrew  Bullet,  the  Black  Bull  o'  the  Indies, 
Cap'n  Josselyn  of  his  Majesty's  Roy'l  Navy,  or  the  very 
Evil  One  himself." 

The  audacious  villain,  thus  designated  and  presented  to 
the  audience,  here  rose,  with  as  much  assurance  and 
complacency  as  a  man  might  assume  upon  an  honorary 
introduction  to  an  assembly  (he  had  been  seated  until 
now,  and  his  insignificant  stature  had  helped  to  secure 
him  from  observation),  and  surveyed  the  jury  and  the 
legal  circle  in  front  of  him,  a  supercilious  expression 


430  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

curling  his  lip,  nml  his  fiirure  poised  with  a  lirairirari  air. 
Then  settl'mi:  his  -hirt-colhir  (lie  was  dressed  to  a  point), 
and  adjusting  a  foppish  eye-glass  to  his  eye,  he  turned 
himself  in  the  dock,  and  looked  leisurely  around  t In- 
house. 

Angie  still  stood  in  her  central  position,  her  hands 
fallen  from  her  face,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  strained 
wide  open,  her  features  and  attitude  indicative  of  nothing 
comprehensible  to  the  observer ;  it  miirht  have  been  an 
guish,  fear,  amazement,  which  so  disturbed  and  petrified 
her, — it  simply  looked  like  vacancy.  Recognizing  her, 
—  finding  in  her  possibly  the  object  of  his  search,  —  Bul 
let  smiled  an  icy  smile,  saluted  her  familiarly,  and 
pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart,  as  if  in  acknowledgment 
of  her  recent  expression  of  interest  in  his  fate. 

The  crowd,  slow  to  believe  in  such  cold-blooded 
effrontery,  wat«-hcd  him  in  silence  an  in-taut,  then  a 
storm  of  hisses  burst  from  every  lip,  and  the  constables 
ha-tily  interfered,  compelling  Bullet  to  reseat  himself, 
and  a  second  time  proceeding  to  enforce  order  in  the 
house.  Probably  the  girl,  who  had  been  thus  signalled 
out  and  again  made  conspicuous,  sank  down  mcchani- 
callv  when  the  rest  of  the  audience  sub-ided  into  quiet. 
She  had  met  the  salutation  of  Bullet,  and  the  stare  of  the 
multitude,  with  an  unmoved  countenance,  as  if  quite 
unconscious  of  tin-  attention  which  wa>  OODOtBtTAted 
upon  her:  tew  could  catch  >i^hl  of  her  t'aee  alter  she 
had  resumed  a  kneeling  attitude,  and  the  attention  of 
those  few  was  but  superficial.  A  watchful  eye  might 


THE   DENUNCIATION.  431 

have  discerned,  however,  even  in  the  dim  twilight,  that 
was  by  this  time  creeping  over  the  court-room,  that,  as 
she  knelt  there,  with  clasped  hands  and  uplifted  gaze, 
the  stony  lines  on  her  face  gradually  melted  into  a 
rapturous  and  triumphant  smile,  her  eye  shone  with  an 
almost  unearthly  light,  her  countenance  was  like  that  of 
one  transfigured.  It  was  an  ecstacy  of  joy,  the  reaction 
after  despair,  and  scarcely  less  apalling,  in  view  of  possi 
ble  consequences.  But,  as  I  have  said,  no  one  noticed 
all  this,  not  even  Hannah,  who  sat  close  beside  her, 
excited,  suspicious,  and  not  a  little  wrathful  at  her  own 
inability  to  hear  and  comprehend  what  was  going  on, 
and  at  Angie's  unaccountable  behavior  and  apparent 
indifference  to  her  privations. 

The  shameful  audacity  with  wThich  Bullet  had  met  the 
charges  of  Bly,  displayed  the  more  hardihood,  inasmuch 
as  a  few  moments  ago  he  and  his  comrades  might  rea 
sonably  have  hoped  for  an  acquittal,  while  now  the  evi 
dence  was  bearing  down  upon  them  with  such  over 
whelming  force  as  to  blanch  the  cheeks  and  send  a  quiver 
through  the  frames  of  his  accomplices.  For  a  few  mo 
ments,  indeed,  the  most  sanguine  of  the  indignant  crowd, 
and  especially  the  prosecuting  attorney,  had  reason  to 
tremble  lest  the  torrent  of  condemning  testimony  wras 
about  to  be  intercepted  and  stayed,  for  Bly,  exhausted 
by  the  vehemence  with  which  he  had  charged  home  to 
Bullet  the  crime  which  lay  heaviest  on  his  own  conscience, 
swooned,  and  there  seemed,  for  a  time,  little  hope  of  his 
revival.  But  by  cautious  treatment  and  the  aid  of  stiin- 


432  HA  UNTED   HEAR  TS. 

ulants,  he  was  at  length  so  far  restored  as  to  be  able  to 
proceed  with  his  revelations  of  the  past.  These  covered 
a  period  of  four  years,  dating  from  the  time  succeeding 
the  murder  oi  Baultie  Hawle. —  when,  a  fugitive  from 
justice,  nothing  remained  for  Bly  but  to  connect  himself 
with  Bullet's  gang,  and  >et  .-nil  with  them,  on  what 
proved  a  piratical  cruise  —  up  to  a  period  of  desperate 
resolve,  when  weakened  by  di-e;i>e,  but  maddened  by 
tyranny,  he  had  succeeded  in  cflecting  an  escape  from 
the  master-spirit  who  had  hitherto  bound  him,  soul  and 
body,  to  his  iron  will. 

And  now  the  government  attorney  had  an  opportunity, 
and  he  improved  it  well,  of  exhibiting  his  skill  in  mana 
ging  a  witness.  With  delicate  discrimination  and masterly 
tactics  he  so  controlled  and  led  the  erratic  mind  of  Bly  as 
to  keep  him  within  the  bounds  of  legal  decorum,  limit 
his  confessions  to  the  charges  contained  in  the  indict 
ment,  and  more  than  all,  evade  the  interruptions  and 
escape  the  legal  injunctions  of  Trump,  who  spared  no 
effort  to  frighten,  bully,  or  confuse  the  witness,  whose 
every  word  was  as  a  thread  in  the  rope  that  was  to  prove 
a  fatal  noose  to  his  clients. 

Thus  guided  and  guarded,  Bly  gave  his  testimony  with 
less  spirit  and  originality  than  at  the  commencement  of 
the  examination,  when  his  precarious  condition  and  over 
mastering  excitement  either  plead  his  excuse  or  claimed 
the  indulgence  of  the  court.  Thus  detailed  and  sifted, 
however,  his  confessions  proved  enough,  and  far  more 
than  enough,  to  implicate  all  the  prisoners  at  the  bar, 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  433 

and  especially  their  leader,  in  every  charge  set  forth  in 
the  indictment ;  the  crimes  imputed  to  them  by  the  con 
sul  and  supercargo  were  established  beyond  question, 
and  their  identity,  and  that  of  their  ship,  so  certified  to, 
that  the  nature  and  unanimity  of  the  verdict  was  placed 
beyond  question. 

Once  only  did  Bly  escape  the  watchfulness  of  his  guar 
dians,  and,  bursting  all  legal  bounds,  strike  boldly  at  the 
doors,  so  long  shut  upon  that  crime,  which  evidently  lay 
nearest  his  conscience. 

His  attention,  for  some  time  distracted  from  the  mat 
ter  in  hand,  had  at  length  become  fixed  on  a  cringing 
figure  which,  creeping  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  witness- 
stand,  stood  at  last  with  neck  bent  forward  and  head  a 
little  inclined,  greedily  and  yet  cautiously  drinking  in  the 
evidence.  "I  see  yer  —  yer  old  wolf !"  howled  Bly  at 
last,  shaking  his  head  at  this  individual,  with  a  singular 
gesture  of  recognition.  "  How  comes  on  that  tavern  o* 
yourn  where  all  the  mischief  in  the  Jarseys  is  hatched  ? 
—  and  where's  your  ugly  cub,  that  drunken  Pete,  that 
was  the  go-between  in  the  pooty  piece  o'  business 
I've  jest  blown  on?  Why  ain't  he  here  to  help  me  out 
with  my  story  !  What  did  he  say  when  he  heerd  the 
end  his  old  uncle  had  come  ter  —  heh  ?  " 

All  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  Bly's,  but  to  no  pur 
pose,  for  by  this  time  the  wretched  father  had  slunk 
away,  and  hid  his  tell-tale  face  in  the  human  thicket  of 
the  crowd. 

Then,  with  a  grin  of  satisfaction  at  the  effect  of  his  in- 
37 


434  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

nnendoes,  Bly  submitted  to  a  reprimand  from  the  court, 
and  proceeded  with  tin-  revolting  task,  not  yet  comph  -ted, 
of  perfecting  his  development  of  crime. 

The  >hort  winter's  day  had  drawn  to  a  close  before 
the  evid.-nce  was  all  in.  The  lamps  that  were  lighted 
for  the  benefit  of  tho>e  immcdiatelv  engaged  in  the  trial 
cast  but  a  feeble  light  around  one  end  of  the  court-room 
and  left  the  remainder  in  deep  gloom.  The  gathering 
."•hades  of  night  seemed  to  foreshadow  the  darkness  of 
death  which  was  closing  in  upon  the  prisoners.  As  Bly 
was  removed  from  t lie  witnes.— >tand  a  pause  succeeded  : 
the  hush  that  hung  over  the  assembly  was  ominous.  It 
was  in  itself  a  verdict. 

It  was  now  the  duty  of  the  senior  counsel  for  the 
prosecution  to  addre.-s  the  jury.  He  claimed  their  atten 
tion,  however,  for  a  few  moments  only  ;  his  advani. 
the  case  was  too  palpable,  too  solemn  to  gain  any  thing 
from  oratory,  and  he  prudently  waived  any  other  argu 
ment  than  -that  of  the  facts  to  which  they  had  just  lis 
tened.  Trump  was  almost  immediately,  therefore,  called 
to  his  task  of  arguing  the  defence  —  so  hopeless  a  task, 
so  impossible  a  defence,  that  it  would  surely  ha\e  been 
stigmati/ed  in  the  annals  of  the  bar  as  "  Trump's  great 
failure."  but  that  he  wisely  imitated  the  example  of  his 
opponent,  and  after  a  brief  harangue  to  the  jury,  eotiehcd 
in  \.ii:ue  terms  of  compliment  and  caution,  left  hi>  OMM9| 
a.-  he  -aid,  "  to  the  decision  of  a  body  of  his  frllo\\ -citi 
zens,  in  whose  uubia-cd  judgment  he  was  no  less  willing 
than  hi-  leann-d  hmtlier  to  confide." 


THE  DENUNCIATION.  435 

Thereupon  the  judge  briefly  but  gravely  summed  up 
the  evidence.  The  jury,  without  leaving  their  seats,  pro 
nounced  the  anticipated  verdict  —  "Guilty."  The  pris 
oners  were  then  remanded  to  jail,  with  orders  to  appear 
the  following  morning  to  receive  their  sentence  —  and  the 
court  adjourned. 

One  act  of  brutality  was  yet  Avanting  to  fill  up  the 
measure  of  Bullet's  crimes.  As  they  conducted  him  back 
to  prison,  and  when  just  outside  the  court-room  door  the 
excited  throng  was  pressing  hotly  on  his  path,  a  woman, 
one  who  had  all  day  been  flitting  like  a  phantom  around 
and  within  the  court-room,  an  emaciated,  haggard  woman, 
the  veriest  outcast  of  the  crowd,  pierced  by  frantic  efforts 
to  the  front,  and  moved  by  the  power  of  a  love  stronger 
than  death,  stronger  than  sin,  of  which  death  is  but  the 
offspring,  tried  to  fling  herself  upon  his  breast.  But  he 
drew  back  with  a  motion  of  disgust  and  scorn  which  baf 
fled  her  intention.  With  imploring  gesture  she  now  held 
up  to  his  gaze  a  child  which  hung  wilting  at  her  breast, — 
a  child  some  four  years  old  perhaps,  —  an  infant  in  size, 
though  with  the  withered  face  of  age  ;  a  wretched  thing, 
perishing  inch  by  inch  of  privation  and  disease,  but  with 
eyes  the  very  image  of  his  on  whom  they  were  fastened 
in  mournful  appeal,  wine-colored,  blood-tinted  eyes,  awful 
in  their  piteous  glare.  With -a  fiendish  laugh  of  recogni 
tion  and  mockery,  the  cruel  father  hissed  blasting  words 
at  the  child, — words  at  which  the  woman  stood  rooted  and 
aghast.  And  then,  because  she  so  stood  an  obstacle  in 
his  path,  and  even  the  constables,  appalled  and  con- 


436  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

founded  forbore  to  remove  her,  he  raised  his  foot  (his 
hands  it  will  be  remembered  were  shackled  by  handcuffs) 
and  —  the  indignant  crowd  gave  a  .-imnltancous  yell  of 
expostulation  —  but  he  did  it — he  kicked  her!  The 
sharp  edge  of  his  polished  boot  inflicted  only  a  slight 
p-a/ing  wound,  but  it  was  a  deeper  pain  than  that  which 
divw  from  her  stung  heart  a  piercing  cry,  and  caused  her 
to  clutch  the  child  closer  to  her  bosom,  as  if  it  too  had 
shared  the  blow.  The  cry  of  the  down-trodden  creature 
was  lost  in  that  of  the  outraged  crowd,  whom  it  by  this 
time  required  the  full  constabulary  force  that  constituted 
the  escort,  to  restrain  from  violently  taking  the  law  into 
their  own  hands  ;  and  while  the  tumult  was  at  its  height, 
the  figures  of  mother  and  child,  wasted  shadows  that 
they  were,  melted  into  the  throng  and  were  lost  —  more 
hopelessly  lost  even  than  In-fore. 

"  Doubtle-- ."  .-aid  tin-  Morning  Chronicle  of  the  ntKt 
day,  in  reference  to  the  circumstance  above  related,  "this 
poor  abandoned  creature  was  the  same  woman  whose  cry 
of  anguish  interrupted  the  proceeding  at  the  trial,  and 
thrilled  the  heart  of  every  listener.  "We  are  also  in 
formed"  added  the  Chronicle.  M  that  the  attorney  for  the 
prosecution  ascribes  to  the  agency  of  this  woman  some 
tampering  with  one  of  his  principal  witnesses,  upon  whom 
.-he  .-lieeeedeil  in  imposing  a  Vo\v  of  -ilence.  which,  had  it 
hern  persevered  in.  would  materially  have  thwarted  the 
end-  of  ju-tice.  How  or  when  this  poor  wanderer,  gcn- 
erallv  known  as  Mad  Moll,  contrived  to  ohlain  communi 
cation  with  the  witness,  himself  a  pri.-oner.  no  one  can 


THE    DENUNCIATION.  437 

conjecture ;  but  what  will  not  the  insane  devotion  of 
woman  often  attempt  and  accomplish  for  the  sake  of  the 
wretch  who  has  betrayed  her  to  her  ruin !  " 

The  reporter  for  the  Chronicle  was  but  a  superficial 
observer  of  the  minor  features  of  the  trial.  So  it  must 
be  confessed  was  the  attorney,  who,  preoccupied  with  his 
own  arduous  duties,  failed  to  observe  that  the  female, 
whose  cry  of  distress  in  the  court-room  attracted  his  eye 
for  an  instant  only,  was  identical  with  the  girl  whom  he 
had  seen,  or  more  probably  overlooked,  in  the  jail. 

It  was  a  reasonable  mystery,  a  natural  complication, 
which  thus  confounded  Angie  with  Polly  Stein,  or  rather 
left  the  former  out  of  the  case  altogether,  except  in  the 
minds  of  the  parties  immediately  concerned. 

For  who  could  have  dreamed  that  the  one  tragedy, 
which  was  the  foremost  topic  of  the  day,  had  involved 
within  it  experiences  scarcely  less  deep,  real,  and  far- 
reaching  in  their  significance,  or  that  the  unravelling 
of  one  thread  of  destiny  had  released  another  from  its 
strange  entanglement? 
37* 


HAUNTED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

SUPPER    AT    TIIK    TUT.    AM)    BOWL. 

THE  crowd  had  poured  out  of  the  City  Hall,  the 
tramp  of  feet  and  the  echo  of  voices  had  died  away,  a 
solitary  figure  was  moving  about  the  court-room  putting 
out  the  lamps,  and  dust  and  smoke,  added  to  darkness, 

obscured  the  atmosphere,  when  two  mm  groped  their 
way  lip  the  staircase  leading  to  tin;  gallery,  and  the 
moment  a  hand  was  laid  on  Hannah  Ivawle's 
shoulder,  and  a  strong  voice,  so  shaken  with  emotion  as 
to  be  subdued  and  hu>ky.  exclaimed,  "  Aunt  Hannah  !  " 
"  Lud  a  ma  — v  !  <  ieordie,  is  that  YOU?"  eried  the  old 
woman.  "  Give  me  your  hand,  my  boy.  I  can't  hear 
yer,  nor  see  yer,  nor  git  my  wits  together  to  make  out 
what  all  this  means,  —  'tis  you,  ain't  it  ?  "  >he  ail«led.  a- 
George  shook  hand-*  with  her  heartily,  and  supporting 
her  under  one  ell»o\v,  a--i-trd  her  ellnrts  to  I'i-e. 
••  Tliat*>  right,  helj>  me  uj)  !  I'm  eon-a-most  crnmp«'d 
to  death  in  this  plaer.  an'  I  can't  git  out  nntlier. — 
won't  Mir.  Start  along,  child  I  it's  (Jeorgio 
come  to  look  us  up,  —  an*  Dick,  —  that's  my  brother 


SUPPER    AT    THE    PIPE    AND    BOWL.         439 

Dick  with  yer,  ain't  it  ?  Patience  alive !  she  won't 
budge,  —  I  've  been  a  shakin'  an'  pushin'  of  her  till 
I  'm  tired  !  "  —  and  here  one  could  just  see,  in  the  dim 
light,  that  Hannah  gave  Angie  a  final  pull  and  nudge, 
and  that  both  were  wholly  without  effect  upon  the 
motionless  object  that  intercepted  her  exit  from  the 
narrow  quarters  in  which  she  had  been  imprisoned  ever 
since  morning. 

An  exclamation  of  anxiety  burst  from  George ;  he 
was  already  bending  down  to  get  a  closer  view  of  the 
inanimate  figure  at  his  feet. 

"  Don't !  take  care  !  let  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  barring 
further  action  on  Hannah's  part  by  an  arm  that  met 
hers  just  as  it  was  impatiently  advanced  for  another 
thrust. 

"  Fust,  as  crazy  as  a  loon,  and  then,  jest  dumb 
founded  !  that's  been  the  way  she's  gone  on,  an'  not  a  word 
have  I  been  able  to  get  out  of  her.  Why,  I  don't  know 
a  thing  that's  been  a  happenin'  the  whole  o'  this  blessed 
day,  except  what  I  've  seen  with  my  own  eyes  !  "  cried 
Hannah,  angrily.  "  Law,  Geordie,  to  think  you  ain't 
dead  nor  nothin'  arter  all !  "  she  continued,  in  quite  a 
contrary  tone,  "  an'  you  look  better  'n  ever  you  did  in 
yer  life.  I  knew  yer  the  fust  minute,  —  I  should  ha* 
known  yer  in  Jericho.  Fur  massy's  sake,  where  did 
yer  come  from?  Wai,  now,"  resuming  her  former 
bitterness  of  tone,  as  she  observed  how  wholly  Geordie's 
attention  was  distracted  from  her  "  what's  to  pay 
wi'  that  gal,  I  wonder  !  "  ^ 


440  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

"Angie!"  George  was  saying  in  the  cautious  tone 
in  which  he  might  have  addressed  a  sleeper,  whom  he 
was  hesitating  whether  or  not  to  wake. 

No  answer. 

"Angie!"  again,  —  this  time  in  an  earnest,  anxious 
voice. 

Still  no  answer. 

Then  he  attempted  to  raise  her,  at  first  awkwardly 
and  with  diffidence,  but  finding  that  her  form  was  rigid, 
and  that  she  made  no  resistance,  he  cauirht  her  up  in 
his  strong  arms  as  easily  and  firmly  us  if  ,-h"  had  been 
an  infant,  turned,  and  without  a  word  to  his  companions, 
hastened  with  her  up  the  ,-tep-  of  the  gallery  and  down 
the  staircase.  Only  his  own  heart  could  hear  him 
mutter,  "Good  G«>d  !  'twas  more  than  she  could 
bear.  She's  dead,  and  I've  done  it  !  " 

Van  Hanseii  drew  back  to  Ki  them  pa--.  He  was 
not  much  conerrned  for  Anirie.  He  was  only  wonder 
ing  at  (i corse's  care  for  her.  •'  If  I  was  in  his  place 
now,"  he  was  >ayinir  to  himself,  "  I'd  leave  her  fur 
somebody  else  to  look  arter,  if  .-he  n-n*  in  a  dead  faint. 
Sarves  her  riirht  to  B6fl  the  infarnal  scamp  sent  to  the 
gallers  where  he  bcloni:-  !  So  much  forjiltiif  an  hone.-t 
teller  for  the  -akc  o'  sich  varmin  (for  Van  Han-en, 
as  well  as  George,  had  mi.-takcn  the  true  caii.-e  of 
Annie's  emotion).  "But  the  Lord  has  riirhted  both  on 
'em,"  muttered  the  old  man,  —  k*  -riven  back  our  own 
bo\-  to  be  the  joy  of  our  old  a'jv.  an'  :_riveu  the  devil 
bis  due  inter  tin?  bargain.  AVc  didn't  come  here 


SUPPER    AT    THE    PIPE    AND    BOWL.         441 

for  notliin',  did  we,  old  ooman  ?  "  he  continued  in  a 
congratulatory  tone  to  Hannah,  who  had  by  this  time 
mounted  the  steps  unassisted,  and  who,  under  Van 
Hausen's  guidance,  was  now  following  in  the  footsteps 
of  her  nephew,  but  at  a  considerable  distance,  for  George, 
without  waiting  for  his  companions,  had  already  gained 
the  outer  door  of  the  building,  just  within  Avhich  he  had 
left  his  mother  under  the  charge  of  the  ubiquitous  con 
stable.  He  did  not  pause  even  to  respond  to  the  anxious 
expression  of  Margery's  face,  or  to  the  constable's  blunt 
inquiries  and  officious  readiness  to  relieve  him  of  at 
least  a  share  of  his  burden  ;  he  merely  signed  to  the 
latter  to  open  the  door  for  him,  beckoned  to  his  mother 
to  follow,  and,  without  checking  his  pace,  hastened  down 
the  steps,  across  the  Park,  and  into  a  narrow  side  street, 
Margery  literally  trotting  at  his  elbow, — for  so  only  could 
she  keep  up  with  him,  —  and  consequently  too  breath 
less  to  utter  either  a  question  or  a  remonstrance.  For 
tunately  Van  Hausen  and  George  had  already  agreed 
upon  the  tavern  where  Dick  had  left  his  horse  as  the 
rendezvous  for  their  party.  So  he  and  Hannah  were 
able  to  pursue  their  course  and  their  dialogue  at  leisure. 
The  first  contact  with  the  fresh  air  brought  relief  to 
George's  fears,  for  it  sent  a  convulsive  shiver  through 
Angle's  frame,  which  was  succeeded  by  similar  spasms, 
recurring  at  intervals,  and  indicating  that  life  still  flowed 
in  a  full  tide, — a  tide  interrupted  in  its  ordinary  channels, 
out  of  course  and  threatening,  but  less  to  be  dreaded 
than  the  deathly  torpor  which  seemed  to  have  settled  upon 


•1  IL*  it  I  r  v  m>    HEARTS. 

h  nt1  tlWM  thrills,  electric  in  i:-  effect,  sent  a 
quiver  <•!' joy  and  thankfulness  through  ( leorge's  heart, 
but  almost  unmanned  him,  too,  so  tl.'it  he  no  longer 
carried  Anirie  lightly  and  easily,  but  trembled  beneath 
IMT  weight.  Doubtless  rapid  motion  and  fre.-h  air  were 
a-  wholesome  remedies  as  could  have  been  employed  in 
her  case,  for  soon  she  ira-pcd.  h«-r  bivast  heaved  with 
hort  convulsive  breath,  and  she  opened  .her  eyes, — 
-l,i—  y,  unnatural  eyes,  —  which  .-tared  unmeaningly  up 
at  (ieorjv.  who,  for  the  lir.-t  time  checking  his  pace,  was 
]>ausing  an  instant  at  a  street  corner,  partly  to  make  sure 
of  his  mur.M'.  partly  to  get  one  look  at  her  by  aid  of 
tin4  light  that  here  glimmered  feebly  from  a  lamp-post. 

"  Angie,  don't  you  know  me?"  he  now  cried,  with 
passionate  vehemence,  —  for  he  was  frightened  at  the 
wild  expression  of  her  eyes. 

At  this  >hf  laughed  full  in  his  face,  and  he,  poor 
fellow,  who  had  never  heard  such  a  laugh  before,  stood 
airhaM.  with  an  anguish  and  despair  pictured  on  his 
features  which  all  his  years  of  martvnlum  had  never  once 
rellrctcd  there.  "  \Vor>e  than  dead!  gone  mad  !  "  was 
his  thought,  u  and  I've  done  it!"  It  was  a  wonder 
that  he  did  not  drop  her  upon  the  sidewalk,  so  terribly 
did  he  recoil  from  what  he  felt  to  be  his  work.  But 
after  the  lir-t  shock  he  did  what,  in  his  solf-respcct  and 
reverence  for  her  had  not  dared  to  do  before,  he  ola-ped 
her  tiLfhtly  to  his  heart,  —  his  generous  heart,  which 
accepted  in  its  ruin  what  had  repulsed  him  in  its  pride; 
his  loyal  heart,  which  vowed  fiv-h  allegiance  to  its 
-fluttered  idol,  and  ran  on  faster  than  before. 


SUPPER    AT    THE    PIPE    AND    BOWL.         443 

"  What's  all  this  !  what's  all  this !  somebody  sick,  or 
somebody  froze ,  or  what !  "  cried  the  stout  landlady  of 
the  "Pipe  and  Bowl,"  as  George,  with  Angie  in  his 
arms,  dashed_unceremoniously  into  her  kitchen.  George's 
reply  consisted  in  depositing  Angie  in  a  straight-backed 
chair,  in  front  of  a  magnificent  fire  of  hickory  logs,  and 
then  glancing  from  her  to  the  landlady  with  a  face  of 
hopeless  dismay. 

"  That's  no  way  !  "  exclaimed  the  good  Avoman,  thus 
appealed  to  ;  "if  she  's  froze,  take  her  as  far  you  can 
from  the  fire  ;  if  she  's  faint,  lay  her  flat,  —  or  here, 
put  her  on  my  bed  and  I  '11  soon  bring  her  to,"  —  and 
the  landlady,  drawing  aside  the  heavy  Killeminster 
curtains  of  an  old-fashioned  Dutch  bedstead,  that  stood 
in  one  corner  of  her  kitchen,  gave  a  notable  slap  to  the 
patch-work  quilt,  and  another  to  the  checked  pillow-case, 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  Put  her  right  down  here,  and 
so,  young  man,  and  then  I'll  see  to  her."  .v.. 

It  was  done  ;  and  with  the  same  readiness  and  zeal 
with  which  she  would  have  plucked  a  chicken,  the 
landlady  untied  the  hood  which  hung  to  the  back  of 
Angie's  neck,  unfastened  and  removed  her  mandarin, 
and  commenced  an  energetic  rubbing  of  her  hands  and 
wrists.  Angie,  meanwhile,  had  manifested  no  other 
symptom  of  life  than  an  occasional  heaving  of  the 
chest,  and  a  sound,  something  between  a  breath  and 
a  sob.  Under  the  landlady's  treatment  she  further 
revived,  and  there  was  an  immediate  recurrence  of 
the  symptoms,  which  had  so  alarmed  George,  —  espec 
ially  the  maniacal  laugh. 


HA  UX'l  I   l>    11  1.  ARTS. 

He  groaned. —  "  O,  you  hush  !"  interposed  the  land 
lady,  authoritatively.  "Didn't  you  I-MT  Mti  anybody 
thi-  wav  afore?  I  ha\e  a  do/en  times." 

u  Have  you?"  exclaimed  (ieorjv.  I'M. king  greatly 
lelieved.  though  .-till  anxious  and  \vocl>e<_ 

MarLr'Ty  had  by  thi-  lime  arri\fd.  panting.  She  had 
fallen  oil'  a  little  in  her  pace  at  tin-  la.-t,  hut  was  near 
enough  to  catch  George'-  signal  l«»  her  a-  he  darted 
through  the  tavern  d<»«»r.  She  had  hardly  entered  tin- 
room  before  she,  too,  became  the  subject  of  the  land 
lady's  ivmonMrances.  Squeezed  into  a  little  corner  at 
the  head  of  the  bed,  she  was  ho\erin_r  «»ver  the  patient, 
patting  her  check,  and  uttering  low  consolatory  sylla 
bles, —  intensely  sympathetic  in  their  torn-,  and  of 
course  the  worst  possible  thing  in  the  world  for  the 
already  over-excited  girl. 

"  Come,  now,  Goody,"  said  the  landlady,  "  don't  you 
see  you're  only  makin'  matters  worse?  Her  narves 
an-  all  unstrung;  a  stranger'll  manage  with  her  hetter'n 
her  own  folks ;  you  go  way  out  o'  sight,"  to  Margery, 
"  and  you,  too,"  to  George  ;  and  having  waived  them 
both,  away,  she  proceeded  to  rub  Angie's  hands  and  feet, 
chafe  her  temples,  and  otherwise  endeavor  to  restore  a 
natural  riivulatiim  to  her  system.  Convulsive  spasms 
.-till  continued  to  agitate  the  poor  girl's  frame,  however, 
and  now  a  sob,  now  a  lauirh.  and  now  a  combination 
of  both,  to  escape  from  her  in  spite  of  the  landlady's 
laliors  and  her  own  efforts  at  sell'-ma-terv.  when  a 
h.-tter  phy-ieiun  and  a  stronger  will  came  to  their 


SUPPER   AT    THE    PIPE   AND    BOWL.  445 

aid  in  the  form  of  Hannah,  who  had  by  this  time  ap 
peared  upon  the  scene.  Her  stern  remonstrance,  her 
arbitrary  command,  had  for  years  been  the  familiar 
antidote  to  every  mental  and  bodily  weakness  in  the 
household  where  she  bore  sway  ;  and  her  "  Hush,  now  ! 
be  still,  child !  ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?  Either 
laugh  or  cry,  an'  be  done  with  it !  "  served  at  once  to 
infuse  tone  and  vigor  into  the  muscles  and  nerves 
enfeebled  or  paralyzed  by  successive  shocks. 

It  seemed  for  a  few  moments  as  if  the  poor  girl  would 
strangle  in  the  efforts  she  made  to  control  the  spasms, 
but  she  did  control  them.  She  looked  up  gratefully  at 
the  kind  landlady  who  was  sprinkling  water  in  her  face, 
and  instinctively  clung  to  her  hand.  Hannah,  satisfied 
with  the  wholesome  effect  of  her  reprimand,  retired  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room  and  stood  gazing  into  the  fire  ; 
Van  Hausen,  meanwhile,  had  beckoned  to  George  from 
the  door-way,  and  the  two  had  gone  off  together  ;  Mar 
gery,  silent,  patient,  humble  as  ever,  in  spite  of  the  joy 
and  deliverance  wrought  out  for  her  this  day,  sat  in  the 
corner  to  which  the  landlady  had  motioned  her  when 
she  banished  her  from  Angie's  bedside.  The  stillness 
of  the  room  (for  except  that  her  breath  came  quick 
and  hard,  Angie  was  quiet  now),  the  warmth,  the 
cheerful,  flickering  blaze  of  the  fire,  the  recollections 
of  the  past,  the  revelations  of  the  present,  all  were  tell 
ing  upon  Hannah  with  subduing  effect.  She  was  in 
need  of  gentle,  genial  influences,  for  there  was  war  and 
contradiction  in  her  heart,  —  a  heart  that  had  been  seared 
38 


i  ;<;  HA  i  \  iri>  H  i.  .\  i:  i 


hardened  by  tin-  strife  of  human  passion-  and 
the  thir.-t  of  blood  for  blood.  That  thirst  was  past,  that 
glut  sati.-licd.  I'm-  during  the  walk  to  tin-  tavern  she  had 
learned  from  her  brother  the  d»  •velopments  nnd  result  of 
the  trial  which  she  had  witnessed,  but  had  been  far  from 
comprehending.  Stern  triumph  had  shone  in  her  eyes 
as  she  entered  the  tavern,  —  an  nntjiialilied  triumph,  that 
could  not  endure  tin-  di.-play  of  any  K-s-  exultant  emo 
tion,  as  was  witnessed  in  her  rebuke  to  Angie's  weakne-s 
and  prostration  of  nerve.  But,  as  she  stood  now  in  the 
stillness,  watching  the  flames  curl  round  tin  togs,  some 
thing  must  have  stolen  into  her  soul  and  modified  its 
vindictive  exultation,  for  the  dry  light  in  her  eye  grad 
ually  became  moist,  the  unnatural  strength  in  her  limbs 
slackened;  she  looked  around  in  search  of  a  chair  that 
stood  behind  her.  sank  into  it,  suffered  her  head  to  droop 
forward  until  her  chin  rested  on  her  hands,  and  more 
than  once  drew  the  worsted  mitten,  that  trophy  and 
pledge  of  the  past,  from  her  pocket,  gazed  at  it  thought 
fully  and  replaced  it  meditatively. 

IVrhaps.  as  she  pondered  the  events  of  the  day,  she 
was  reflecting  how  little  part  s*he  herself  had  borne  in 
them  :  she.  a  deaf  old  woman,  who  could  not  even  hear 
the  evidence  to  which  strangers'  ears  weiv  privy.  And 
her  cheri.-hed  bit  of  proof,  to  which  .-he  had  clnnir  with 
such  faith  and  hope,  of  what  value  had  it  been  alter 
all?  Even  now,  the  chief  a-jent  in  planning  her  hus 
band's  murder  was  to  die  in  expiation  of  other  crimes 
committed  a^ain.-l  lii.Lrh  heaven,  not  in  revenge  for  her 


SUPPER    AT    THE    PIPE   AND    BOWL.  447 

wrong ;  and  the  wretched  man  that  had  dealt  the  fatal 
blow  was  a  destined  victim  of  disease,  not  of  the 
scaffold.  Humbling  thoughts  these. 

And  how  different  an  instrument  Providence  had 
chosen  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  retribution  from 
any  that  her  forethought  or  wisdom  could  have  con 
ceived  !  Perhaps,  as  her  mind  returned  from  groping 
among  the  mysteries  of  crime  and  its  judgments  to  dwell 
upon  George's  unlocked  for  return,  and  the  signal  part 
he  had  played  in  the  arrest  and  conviction  of  the  vil 
lain  who  had  plotted  his  uncle's  murder,  her  hard,  vin 
dictive  heart  was  awed  and  melted  before  the  power  and 
love  of  Him  whose  justice  had  thus  walked  hand  in  hand 
with  his  mercy. 

Some  such  humiliating,  subduing  influences  must 
have  proved  the  result  and  crisis  of  her  meditation,  for 
turning  herself  at  length  in  Margery's  direction,  and 
hitching  her  own  chair  a  little  to  one  side,  she  ex 
claimed,  sympathetically,  "  Don't  set  off  there  shiverin', 
Margery  ;  draw  up,  woman.  I'm  keepin'  the  fire  off  of 
yer !  "  and  when  Margery,  like  one  roused  from  some 
dream  or  trance,  had  obeyed  the  invitation,  and  the  two 
old  women  were  ranged  side  by  side  in  front  of  the 
blazing  logs,  Hannah  still  further  evidenced  her  sympa 
thy  and  congratulation  by  laying  her  hand  expressively 
on  Margery's  knee,  —  not  an  empty  hand,  for  it  held  an 
open  snuffbox.  Margery  gratefully  accepted  this  little 
attention. 

"  So  you've  got  yer  boy  back,  Margery,"  said  Han 
nah,  as  she,  herself,  took  a  pinch  also. 


448  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

Margery  nodded  and  snuffed  in  silent  assent. 

••  The  Lord's  been  very  marcit'ul  to  y.-r  \\\\*  day,  —  to 
i  -  all," — continued  Hannah,  after  a  pau-e.  Again 
Margery  assented  by  a  motion  of  the  head,  —  a  reveren 
tial  motion,  —  more  significant  than  words  could  have 
been,  even  if  Hannah  had  had  cars  for  tin-  latter. 

"  Blessed  be  his  name  !  "   said  Hannah. 

And  Margery,  by  a  gesture,  said  M  A  men." 

"  She's  asleep,  ain't  she  ?  "  now  asked  Hannah,  chock 
ing  the  landlady  who  was  crossing  the  room  on  tiptoe, 
and  pointing  to  the  bed  where  Angie  lay,  with  closed 
eyes,  and  hands  devoutly  damped  upon  her  breast. 

The  landlady  gave  an  allinnative  nod,  and  glanced  at 
her  patient  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"  I'm  glad  on't ;  it's  the  best  thing  in  the  world  fur 
her.  Poor  gal !  she  ain't  one  o'  the  kind  that  breaks 
down  fur  nothin'.  But  she's  had  a  hard  time  on't 
to-day;  we  have  all  on  us." 

The  landlady,  all  curiosity,  was  eager  to  hear  more, 
to  listen,  indeed,  to  a  detailed  account  of  her  guests' 
experiences,  but  Hannah,  even  in  ordinary  matters, 
wa-  no  gossip,  and  the  landlady,  disconcerted  by  the 
reserve  and  the  deafness  of  tin-  old  woman,  was  obli^-d 
to  content  herself  with  the  as-nranee  that  they  had  been 
in  court  all  day,  had  eaten  nothing  sin.  e  mornii)'_r,  and 
hoped  she  would  LM\«-  them  something  comfortable  for 

rapper. 

This  latter  hint,  a  iim-l  aeerptable  one  to  the  landlady, 
gave  an  instant  diversion  to  her  faculties,  both  bodily 


SUPPER   AT   THE   PIPE   AND    BOWL.  449 

and  mental.  The  "  Pipe  and  Bowl,"  a  genuine  Dutch 
tavern,  which  had  attained  to  the  height  of  its  reputation 
in  the  old  colonial  days,  had  long  since  been  superseded 
by  statelier  places  of  entertainment,  high  brick  struc 
tures,  in  some  instances,  foreshadowing  our  modern 
hotels.  On  market-days  the  "  Pipe  and  Bowl  "  was  still 
much  frequented  by  rustic  customers,  and  it  was  seldom 
that  its  early  dinner  was  not  attended  by  a  few  Dutch 
farmers  or  tradesfolk,  who  nattered  the  landlady,  and 
kept  alive  the  reputation  of  her  modest  inn  by  their 
encomiums  of  her  sourkrout  and  hogs-head  cheese ; 
but  the  "  Pipe  and  Bowl "  had  for  the  most  part  de 
generated  into  a  convenient  tap-room  and  eating-house, 
and  it  was  seldom  that  a  party  of  guests,  a  private 
party,  females  included,  called  for  a  meal  there  after  sun 
down.  So  Hannah's  hint  at  once  suggested  the  swinging 
of  the  tea-kettle  across  the  crane  and  adjusting  it  over 
the  blaze,  and  an  examination  and  stirring  of  the  con 
tents  of  a  huge  pot  already  boiling  alongside,  the  setting 
out  of  an  oaken  table,  and  various  rummagings  in  press 
and  pantry. 

"  For  massy's  sake,  Margery,"  exclaimed  Hannah, 
abruptly,  while  the  landlady  was  absent  from  the 
kitchen  on  one  of  these  hospitable  errands,  "  while 
she's  out  tell  me  how  yer  come  here.  We  left  yer  at 
home  this  mornin',  an',  I  vum,  I  believe  you  rode  to 
York  on  a  broomstick.  'Twouldu't  be  a  bit  stranger 
than  the  way  I  saw  yer  brought  inter  the  court 
house." 

38* 


l.")0  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 


Margery  told  her  story  in  her  own  way,  or  rather 
in  the  only  \\  ay  that  it  could  ho  made  intelligible  to 
Hannah, — that  is,  by  signs,  hints,  and  broken  phrases, 
which  together  thrni>hed  an  outline  of  her  adventure-  ; 
but  for  the  reader's  convenience,  I  will  tell  it  in  a 
more  connected  manner. 

An  embargo  being  put  upon  Captain  Rawle's  liberty 
from  the  first  moment  of  his  arrival  in  port,  in  conse 
quence  of  his  detention  as  a  witness,  he  had  lost  no 
time  in  despatching  a  message  of  report  and  inquiry 
to  his  home  at  Stein's  Plains.  A  couple  of  his  sail 
ors,  with  sailors'  alacrity  to  improve  the  earliest  op 
portunity  for  an  excursion  by  land,  and  with  the 
eagerness  which  hands,  educated  only  for  pulling  ropes, 
always  manii'e-t  to  grasp  the  reins,  were  only  too 
eager  for  a  sleighing  frolic.  Starting  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  comparatively  sober,  these  jolly  tars  had  long 
het'ure  noon  reported  to  the  astonished  ears  of  Margery 
the  intelligence  they  were  sent  to  convey  ;  vi/..  tin; 
safety  of  her  son,  his  arrival  in  port,  his  unlucky  de 
tention  by  legal  authorities.  The  poor  mother,  less 
elated  at  his  seeming  resurrection  from  the  dead  than 
horror-struck  at  learning  that  he  was  alreadv  in  the 
clutches  of  the  law,  had  but  one  question  to  ask, — 
"Where  is  he?  Where  is  my  b..y?"  and  hut  one  en 
treaty,  which  she  poured  out  almost  on  her  knees,  "  O, 
take  me  to  him,  good  sailors  !  For  the  love  of  Heaven, 
take  me  to  my  boy!"  The  good-hearted  fellows,  by 


SUPPER   AT   THE   PIPE  AND   BOWL.          451 

this  time  glowing  with  a  glass  of  grog  they  had  each 
drunk  at  Stein's,  where  they  had  stopped  to  inquire  the 
way,  were  ripe  for  executing  the  will  of  the  first  appli 
cant  ;  moreover,  did  a  sailor  ever  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  a 
woman's  prayer  —  a  mother's  ?  She  started  (poor,  mad 
Margery,  —  for  fear  had  by  this  time  unsettled  her 
faculties)  most  imperfectly  protected  against  the  weather, 
but  they  wrapped  her  up  warm  in  the  buffalo  robes,  for 
which  they  had  not  before  quite  discovered  a  use,  and 
in  spite  of  their  recklessness  and  continual  mistakes 
concerning  the  route,  their  frequently  stopping  to  pro 
cure  drink,  which  once  or  twice  they,  with  the  best 
intentions  in  the  world,  insisted  upon  the  old  woman's 
sharing,  and  above  all,  their  many  hairbreadth  escapes 
from  sudden  upset  and  utter  demolition,  they  reached 
the  city  in  safety,  drove  with  an  air  of  authority  to 
the  very  door  of  the  City  Hall,  where  they  understood 
the  trial  was  going  forward,  and  mounting  the  old 
woman  upon  their  shoulders,  bore  her  triumphantly 
through  the  crowd,  and  deposited  her.  as  we  have  seen, 
in  the  very  arms  of  her  son. 

"What  are  you  about,  my  dearie?"  questioned  the 
landlady,  as,  coming  back  when  her  other  labors  were 
completed,  to  look  after  her  charge,  she  found  Angie 
awake  and  making  an  effort  to  rise. 

"  I'm  better  now,"  said  Angie,  in  the  feeble,  tremulous 
tone  of  one  greatly  exhausted.  "I  don't  think  it'll  come 
again.  I'll  get  up  now." 

"  You've  been  asleep,  dearie,  and  you're  a  sight  the 


452  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

better  for't,  I  daresay;  but  I  wouldn't  stir  yet.  Lie 
still  a  while,  till  you  feel  stronger." 

"No;  I'll  sit  up  now/'  per.-i>ied  Angie.  with  quiet 
deei-ion;  and  sliding  off  from  tin  high  bed,  she  took  a 
step  forward,  hut  >he  hud  c>\  cr-calculated  her  strength; 
she  staggered,  and  would  have  fallen,  but  her  watchful 
nui-M-  raught  her  and  supported  her  to  a  seat. 

"  She's  dizzy  with  just  waking  up,  that's  all,"  com 
mented  the  landlady,  in  a  side  tone,  intended  for  Hannah 
and  Margery. 

Angie  sank  into  the  first  chair  that  offered  itself,  with 
&  faint  smile,  which  seemed  to  say,  ki  O,  I'm  better  ;  I 
shall  do  very  well  now."  The  smile  was  meant  for 
Margi-ry,  who  had  crept  to  her  side,  and  was  gazing 
down  upon  her  with  a  glance  full  of  tender  meaning. 
The  old  and  the  young  hands,  too,  that  had  met  so  often 
and  -o  Mealthily  in  mutual  terror,  sympathy,  and  dread, 
\\«-iv  .secretly  clasped  once  more  —  this  time  in  unspeak 
able  joy. 

Angie,  though  she  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  con 
tradict  the  landlady's  assertion,  had  not  been  asleep,  nor, 
since  she  was  first  revived  by  the  open  air  of  the  street, 
wholly  unconscious,  though  utterly  unabli-  to  control  the 
jiuivly  physical  effects  of  the  ti-rril)l«-  fxcitnncnt  she  had 
undergone.  For  the  last  half  hour  she  had  lain  in  that 
repose  of  utter  t-xhaiMiun  which  resembles  sleep,  and  is 
scarcely  le>s  ivl'iv>hing. 

The  landlady,  ol^erving  the  hissing  and  sputtering  of 
her  tea-kettle,  busth-d  off.  as  >he  >aid.  "  to  set  the  tea  to 


SUPPER   AT   THE   PIPE  AND    BOWL.  453 

steepin'  for  the  common  good."  Angle,  her  face  wan 
and  colorless,  and  rendered  more  so,  apparently,  by  the 
background  of  dark,  rippling  hair,  which  had  been 
pushed  back  in  a  heavy  mass  from  her  forehead  to 
relieve  her  throbbing  temples,  sat  with  her  hand  riveted 
to  that  of  Margery,  and  her  head  almost  resting  on 
the  shoulder  of  the  old  woman,  who  was  bending 
fondly  over  her,  for  the  first  time  in  their  mutual 
experience,  the  least  helpless  of  the  two,  when  a  door 
close  by,  which  led  directly  from  the  kitchen  to  the 
stable  yard,  opened,  and  Van  Hausen,  followed  by 
George,  entered  abruptly. 

The  former,  without  looking  to  right  or  left,  walked 
directly  to  the  fireplace,  and  taking  the  chair  which 
Margery  had  vacated,  gave  a  complacent  glance  at  the 
preparations  for  supper  which  were  going  forward  there. 
The  latter,  equally  fixed  in  his  purpose,  saw  nothing 
but  Angie's  pale  face  ;  and  stepping  cautiously  up  behind 
his  mother,  whispered  eagerly,  as  he  laid  a  hand  on 
Margery's  shoulder,  "She's  better,  isn't  she?  She's 
got  over  it  ?  —  thank  Heaven  !  " 

Angie  started  at  hearing  his  voice  so  near  her ;  so 
did  Margery.  The  former  lifted  up  her  drooping  head  ; 
instinctively,  they  both  unclasped  the  tightly  locked 
hands, — as  if  he  could  detect  all,  —  all  that  was  under 
stood  between  them  in  that  clasp.  That  was  impossible. 
How  could  he  conceive  of  the  nature  and  extent  of  the 
unspoken  confidence  that  had  existed  between  these  two 
for  years,  —  the  terrible  dread  —  the  mighty  deliverance? 


454  BAUXTED    HEART*. 

All  that  he  saw  —  and  they  did  not  disengage  tln-in-« -1\  >  •- 
from  each  other  so  quickly  l>ut  that  he  •]',<]  see  that  —  was 
the  evidence  of  a  love  as  tender  and  instinctive  as  that 
of  a  mother  and  chiM. 

••  Ye~.  ( .  .  I'm  —  I'm — you "  the  effort  was 

too  much  for  Angie  ;  her  lip  quivered  :  In-  started  forward, 
and  was  about  to  snatch  the  hand  his  mother  had  relin- 
quishcd,  when  something  came  between  him  and  his 
intention. 

It  was  only  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  hand  of  the  landlady 
—  not  an  insuperable  obstacle,  certainly,  but  the  exhor 
tation  which  accompanied  it  proved  so. 

44  Let  her  alone  now,  sweetheart ! "  exclaimed  the 
landlady,  inserting  her  buxom  person  between  them. 
u  Don't  you  say  a  word  to  her  till  she's  had  something 
to  stay  her  stomach  ; "  and  the  good  woman,  who  was 
possessed  with  the  idea  that  a  misunderstanding  with 
tiie  voung  man,  and  nothing  else,  had  been  the  cause  of 
the  young  woman's  distress,  still  further  balked  his  inten 
tion  by  the  threatening  whisper  with  which  she  added, 
"  If  you  speak  one  word  now,  you'll  bring  another  attack 
o'  tho  spasms  on  her,  as  sure  as  the  world!  Your 
supper  's  on  the  table ;  you  must  be  mighty  hungry,, 
all  of  you,  so  you  set  to  while  I  get  somethin'  warm  into 
her." 

George,  thus  frustrated  and  overborne,  was  compelled 
to  beat  an  awkward  retreat.  A  wistful  look  on  his  part. 
a  timid  one  on  AnL'ie's,  were  >toleu  rather  than  ex 
changed  ;  and  thus,  after  five  year.-  of  >cparation,  and  all 


SUPPER   AT   THE   PIPE  AND   BOWL.  455 

the  misery  that  had  intervened,  this,  their  first  broken 
interview,  ended  in  mutual  disappointment,  embarrass 
ment,  and  constraint. 

There  was  a  marked  contrast  in  the  appetites  of  the 
parties  who  sat  down  to  the  landlady's  bountiful  supper. 
Van  Hausen  ate  voraciously  —  the  exciting  events  of  the 
day  had  but  served  to  whet  his  gastronomic  powers. 
Hannah,  whose  still  sturdy  frame  demanded  regular 
nourishment,  and  whose  bodily  and  mental  constitution 
were  of  that  tough  fibre  which  no  accidents  of  fate  or 
fortune  could  disturb  in  the  exercise  of  their  natural 
functions,  "  set  to,"  as  the  landlady  had  recommended, 
and  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  compensate  herself  for  her 
long  fast.  But  Margery  did  no  such  justice  to  the  hospi 
talities  of  the  "  Pipe  and  Bowl."  It  was  sustenance 
enough  for  the  mother,  soul  and  body,  that  her  eyes  were 
feasting  on  her  son ;  and  George,  whether  elated  by  the 
fulfilment  of  his  heart's  best  prophecies,  or  agitated  by 
something  worse  than  its  fears ;  whether  satiated 
already  with  good  cheer,  and  inwardly  saying  grace, 
or  choked  with  a  similar  emotion  to  that  which  made 
Angie,  sitting  in  her  dark  corner,  discourage  the  good 
landlady's  attempts  to  put  a  little  life  into  her  in  the 
form  of  poached  eggs  and  mutton  broth,  was,  at  all 
events,  unsuccessful  in  his  attempts  to  even  feign  an 
appetite.  At  last,  suddenly  pushing  back  his  plate, 
and  starting  up,  he  exclaimed,  in  reply  to  the  question 
ing  looks  of  his  companions,  especially  of  Van  Hausen, 
who  was,  as  yet,  but  half  satisfied,  "  Keep  on  eating, 


456  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

nude  Dick  "  (so  he  had  called  him  from  a  boy)  ;  "  I'm 
only  £oing  to  sec  if  your  horse  has  finished  his  oats ; 
because,  if  he  ha-.  I  may  as  well  help  that  little  shaver 
in  the  >tal>le  about  harne->iii'_r." 

Tin-  .-upper-table  wa-  I'li-ln  d  hack  against  the  wall, 
and  tin-  t\\o  old  women,  with  their  cloaks  on,  —  Mar 
gery  with  a  thick  one  of  the  landlady's  ont.-ide  her  own, 
—  were  getting  a  last  wanning  in  front  of  tin-  liiv, 
when  George,  and  Van  Hausen  who  had  joined  him  at 
the  stable,  drove  to  the  front  door  of  tin-  tavern  in  the 
pung. 

Angie,  who  had  caught  the  familiar  sound  of  the  bells, 
was  standing  with  her  face  to  the  wall,  hurriedly  clasp 
ing  the  hooks  and  eyes  of  her  mandarin,  when  a  voice 
close  to  her  ear.  -aid,  in  tones  of  fraternal  tenderness, 
44  Angie,  don't  go  home  to-night  —  it  isn't  prudent ! 
Stay  here;  uncle  Dick  Ml  come  for  you  to-morrow; 
or"  —  hesitating  —  "  I  will." 

"  O,  no,  George ! "  she  answered,  in  a  tremulous, 
imploring  voice,  giving  one  grateful  look  up  at  him. 
then,  hiding  her  face  beneath  her  hood,  which  she 
snatched  up,  put  on,  and  tied  with  nervous  ha-te, 
thus  pmtr.-tinjr,  by  deed  a<  well  as  by  word,  against 
being  left  behind. 

"  But  it's  very  cold,"  persisted  George,  -till  in  a 
dis.-ua-ivt?  tone. 

'•  No  matter!  I'm  quite  well  now.  I  must  iro  —  that 
is,"  —  faltering  at  this  new  thought,  and  humbly  qualify 
ing  her  former  earnestness,  —  "  unless  there  isn't  room." 


SUPPER   AT   THE    PIPE  AND    BOWL,         457 

"  Plenty  of  room ;  if  not,  you  don't  suppose  I'd  take 
your  place?"  answered  George.  "You'll  ride  all  the 
warmer,  you  three,  on  one  seat,  in  that  wide  pung ! 
only  it's  such  a  frosty  night,  I'm  afraid " 

"  O  no,  if  that's  all,"  answered  Angie,  interrupting, 
but  not  looking  him  in  the  face,  looking  every  where- 
else  in  her  nervousness  and  agitation,  —  "that,  that's 
nothing." 

Van  Hausem  had  already  marshalled  out  his  sister  and 
Margery ;  and  Angie,  with  a  step  tottering  less  from 
weakness  than  from  the  effect  of  her  first  interchange 
of  words  with  George,  and  her  fear  lest  his  proposition 
might  be  carried  into  effect,  made  a  hasty  movement  to 
follow  them. 

George,  having  thus  proved  her  resolve,  however, 
gave  her  no  further  opportunity  to  test  her  strength. 
More  rapid  and  decisive  in  his  movements  than  herself, 
he,  without  permission  or  the  form  of  an  apology, 
wrapped  a  warm  overcoat  of  his  own  around  her  shoul 
ders  as  an  additional  protection  from  the  weather,  lifted 
her  in  his  arms,  and  without  suffering  her  feet  to  touch  the 
snow-covered  sidewalk,  without  even  giving  her  a  chance 
to  say  good-night  to  the  landlady  who  was  shivering  in 
the  door-way,  as  she  waited  there  to  see  them  off,  de 
posited  her  in  the  vacant  space  left  for  her  on  the  back 
seat  of  the  pung.  He  then  sprang  up  himself  beside  Van 
Hausen,  the  latter  gave  an  impatient  chirrup  to  his  horse, 
and  they  were  off. 

It   was  a   long  drive    for   a   cold   night,  but   it  was 
39 


458  n  A  (\\  r  i  i>   u  i  A  /:  /•>. 

accomplish i-«l  in  safetv,  almo-t  in  .-ilence.  An  occa 
sional  inquiry  from  George  concerning  the  welfare  of 
the  females  of  the  party,  and  Van  Hauncu's  puii 
long"  to  the  horse,  alone  disturbed  tin-  meditations  of  the 
travellers,  whom  the  events  of  the  djiy  had  turni.-hrd 
with  ample  food  lor  thought,  if  they  could  think  in 
of  tindinir  ears  and  noses,  1  rozen'breal  h ,  and  feet  which, 
in  the  case  of  the  two  old  women  at  least,  were  alm«»-t 
benumbed  with  the  cold  before  they  readied  their  d»-:i- 
nation,  in  spite  of  the  bricks  with  which  Hannah  had 
been  provided  in  the  morning,  freshly  heated  for  present 
086,  and  such  other  old-fashioned  precautions  as  had 
been  devised  for  their  comfort  by  the  considerate  laud- 
lady  of  the  "  Pipe  and  Bowl."  Lights  were  still  burn 
ing  in  most  of  the  farm-houses  when  they  reached  Stein's 
Plains,  sending  out  little  gleams  of  radiance  to  greet  the 
five  year.-'  wanderer,  who  saw  in  them  each  a  welcome 
home,  and  whose  heart,  loyal  to  all  its  early  l.>\e>, 
glowed  and  throbbed  with  inward  fires  that,  like  the 
household  lamps,  burned  the  brighter  for  the  wintry 
frosts  outside. 

There  was  no  light,  no  lire  in  the  cottage  on  the  er<>— 
road  to  which  the  travellers  were  bound;  and  the  MIOW. 
with  which  the  wind  had  toyed  all  day.  lay  in  a  huire 
oblique  drift  across  the  threshold,  to  which,  no  path  was 
visible.  lint  what  of  that  'f  George's  strong  anus  were 
ready  to  carry  lir.-t  hi-  mother,  then  AIILMC,  then  his 
aunt  Hannah  even,  through  the  MIOW,  and  deposit  them 
dr\--hod  within  door.-,  and  lhi>  in  .-pile  of  Hannah 


SUPPER   AT   THE  PIPE  AND   BOWL.  459 

Rawle's  obstinate  resistance,  which  ended  in  an  almost 
boisterous  struggle  between  her  and  her  nephew,  a 
genuine  burst  of  laughter  on  his  part  and  on  hers, 
as  he  set  her  down  in  the  door-way,  the  indignant 
protest,  "  Do  yer-  think  I  mind  a  little  flurry  o'  snow, 
or  that  I've  lost  the  use  o'  my  limbs,  yer  sarcy  fel 
ler?" 

And  George  remembered  just  where  to  put  his  hand 
on  the  mantel-shelf  to  find  the  tinder-box  and  flint,  — 
he  knew  where  the  lamps  were  kept,  and  he  had  not 
forgotten  the  way  to  the  wood-pile.  Before  Van  Hausen 
could  turn  and  drive  off,  there  was  a  light  streaming 
from  the  cottage  window  to  guide  him  down  the  road, 
and  before  the  echo  of  his  sleigh-bells  had  died  away, 
there  was  a  bright  fire  blazing  in  the  kitchen  chimney, 
and  the  family  circle  were  drawn  up  around  it.  Not 
to  linger  long,  however,  for  Hannah,  tired  herself,  per 
haps  pitying  Margery's  exhaustion,  for  Margery,  the 
weaker  of  the  two,  could,  by  this  time,  scarcely  hold  up 
her  head  for  weariness,  sent  Angie  to  bed,  with  the  curt, 
yet  well-meant  assertion,  "  that's  the  best  place  for  you, 
child  ,  "  and  when  Angie  had  gone,  resisted  all  George's 
entreaties  for  one  minute's  more  delay,  the  answer  to 
one  more  question. 

"No!  Wait  till  mornin'.  Don't  yer  see  yer  mother 's 
all  tuckered  out,  Geordie?"  was  an  unanswerable  re 
monstrance  and  argument ;  and  long  before  midnight, 
indeed,  by  the  time  the  lights  of  Christmas-eve  had  died 
out  in  the  neighboring  farm-houses,  the  accounts  of  this 


460  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

eventful  day  were  closed  in  the  Rawle  cottage,  and  alone 

with  darkm-.-s  and  with  (lod  its  inmah-s  were  left  to  seek 
refreshment  in  sleep,  to  commune  with  their  own  lira  its 
in  the  night  watches,  or  in  praise  and  thanksgiving  to 
Heaven  to  await  the  Christmas  dawn. 


CONGRATULATIONS.  461 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

CONGRATULATIONS . 

THERE  was  no  preparation  for  Christmas  cheer  in  the 
Rawle  cottage.  There  were  associations  with  the  season 
that,  for  five  years  past,  had  palsied  the  hands  and  hearts 
of  the  inmates,  and  forbidden  them  a  share  in  the  annual 
festivity,  even  if  they  had  possessed  the  means  of  self- 
indulgence.  This  year  Van  Hausen's  customary  dona 
tion  was  wanting,  and  the  larder  was  literally  empty. 

But  George's  return  had  ushered  in  a  new  era.  Hence 
forth  the  day,  which  is  the  harbinger  of  joy  to  the  whole 
earth,  was  to  them  a  commemorative  festival  of  thanks 
giving  and  praise.  The  Christmas  sun  had  scarcely 
risen,  the  household  had  scarcely  met,  had  certainly  had 
no  opportunity  to  exchange  morning  salutations  and  good 
wishes,  when  the  tide  of  neighborly  congratulation  be 
gan  to  pour  in.  The  news  of  George's  return,  and  of 
the  discovery  of  his  uncle's  murderer,  had  got  wind,  and 
with  a  concert  of  action,  which  proved  the  sympathetic 
qualities  of  the  people  at  Stein's  Plains,  and  attested  to  the 
popularity  of  their  former  favorite,  every  body  flocked 
39* 


462  //  i  r  N  y/y   11 1.  i  /ITS. 

to  bid  him  welcome,  and  to  e\hau-t  thein-elve-  with 
hand-shaking-,  exclamation-,  and  inquiries,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  those  quieter  demonstration-  which  took  the  form 
of  mute  wonder,  secret  In-art  throbs,  and  tears  that  would 
not  be  repn—eil. 

Nor  were  more  substantial  proof's  of  the  sympathy  and 
good  will  of  the  neighborhood  wanting.  Nobody  came 
empty  handed.  George,  the  great  feature  of  the  day, 
and  destined  to  bo  the  -uhject  of  unbounded  discussion 
and  enjoyment  in  every  homestead  of  the  township,  could 
only  be  figuratively  distributed  among  them  ;  but  every 
family  instinctively  vied  with  every  other  in  the  ambition 
to  add  something  to  the  entertainment,  which  should  do 
honor  to  him  in  his  own  home.  So,  while  he,  was  the 
centre  of  au  enthusiastic  circle,  Augie,  somewhere  in  the 
out  .-kin.-,  was  continually  h«-ckoui-d  a>ide.  plueked  by  the 
gown,  or  by  certain  .-igns  and  innuendoes  given  to  under 
stand  that  the  contents  of  various  box. •-.  btgBj  and  par 
cels,  mysteriously  smuggled  into  the  hou.-e,  were  intended 
as  contributions  to  Mrs.  Rawle's  Christmas  dinner,  and 
were  recommended  to  Angie'.-  care.  Kven  old  Stein,  who 
was  among  the  earliest  guests,  dragged  from  his  pocket 
a  half-.-tarvrd  fowl,  which  had  the  appearance  of  having 
been  fro/en  and  thawed  several  times  rind  it  «ra|  hung 
up  in  hi-  cellar-way.  This  attention  wa-  qualified,  how- 
ever,  by  the  ta-'t  that  Stein  had  come  with  th«-  intention 
of  staying  to  dinner,  ind.-eil  of  imartering  him.-flf  in  the 
(•oltagi-  for  the  re.-t  oi'  tin-  day. 

"  They  might   as  well  have  said  breakfast,"  growled 


CONGRATULATIONS.  463 

Hannah,  who,  having  strayed  discontentedly  into  the 
pantry,  about  the  middle  of  the  morning,  and  there  found 
Angie  preparing  a  fat  goose  for  roasting,  had  learned  from 
her  its  origin  and  destiny.  "  Haven't  one  of  us  had  a 
thing  to  eat  to-day,  except  by  snatches,  what,  with  their 
comin',  an'  go  in',  an'  huddlin'  'round  the  fire,  so  that  I 
haven't  had  a  chance  to  thaw  out  my  finger-ends  yet, 
much  less  get  the  kittle  on  a-bilin'  an'  have  a  cup  o'  tea. 
I  think  they  might  let  us  have  him  to  ourselves  one  day, 
at  least." 

This  was  not  very  gracious  in  Hannah,  certainly  ;  but 
then  it  must  be  remembered  what  a  secluded  life  she 
had  led  for  years,  both  on  the  mountain-top  and  in  the 
cross-road  cottage  ;  how  obnoxious  she  would  naturally 
feel  any  intrusion  upon  her  habits  or  her  premises,  and 
how  distasteful  obligations  of  every  sort  must  be  to  a 
woman  of  her  mettle. 

The  neighbors,  with  a  few  exceptions,  had  the  grace, 
it  must  be  acknowledged,  not  to  linger  long.  Perhaps  the 
day  had  its  domestic  duties  and  claims  upon  them,  per 
haps,  having  gleaned  an  outline  of  the  news,  they  were 
eager  to  disseminate  it  abroad  or  talk  it  over  at  home.  It 
was  the  circumstance  of  their  alternating  throughout  the 
morning,  according  to  the  distance  at  which  they  lived, 
and  returning,  many  of  them,  later  in  the  day,  to  confirm 
all  they  had  seen  and  heard  in  a  second  interview,  which 
caused  the  cottage,  from  morning  till  night,  to  be  more 
or  less  thronged  with  visitors. 

And  of  course  George's  story  must  be  recapitulated  to 


464  HAUXTED    HEART*. 

every  new  comer.    To  say  that  it  was  anywise  exhausted 

would  be  to  anticipate  tin-  event  of  a  couple  of  scores  of 
years  at  least.  It  was  destined  to  furnish  a  store  of  nar 
rative  and  entertainment  which  a  lifetime  could  scarcely 
exhaust,  much  less  a  single  day.  lint  its  rsM-ntial  char 
acter,  its  main  feature.-,  were  detailed  xi  many  times,  that 
even  Angie,  her  attention  called  off  continually,  and  her 
services  claimed  at  every  turn,  gleaned  enough,  at  lav,. 
to  have  a  vague  comprehension  of  those  points  in  the 
story  which  gave  rise  to  the  exclamations  of  surpri-e. 
and  the  murmurs  of  gratitude  that,  a-  >he  went  about 
her  tasks,  echoed  the  swellings  of  her  own  heart. 

Margery,  meanwhile,  indifferent  to  all  this  coming  and 
going,  this  hu/7.  of  human  voice-,  thi-  unwonted  prepara 
tion  for  Christmas  cheer,  remained  all  day  wrapped  iM 
that  trance  of  joy.  that  blissful  delirium,  which  seemed  to 
lift  her  into  a  sort  of  cloud-land,  and  gave  a  dreamy  ex- 
i-ni  to  her  lace,  oil  which  rested  the  smile  of' a  per 
fect  content.  She  asked  no  questions,  not  even  on  points 
of  her  son's  experience,  of  which  she  was  wholly  ignorant  ; 
she  entered  into  no  communication  with  anybody  ;  when 
the  neighbors  addressed  her,  as  they  all  did.  in  tones  of 
earnest  congratulation,  she  suffered  thi-  smile  of  her-  to 
wander  to  them  for  an  instant,  but  it  immediately  r<  - 
turned  to  its  fond  allegiance  ;  it  was  enough  for  her 
silently  to  ira/e  on  her  son,  instinctively  to  know  that  -he 
was  blest.  What  tender  maternity  there  was  in  that 
Lra/e  !  But  for  tin-  wrinkles  that  time  had  left  on  her 
Li*  >  .  1  am  confident  she  must  have  looked  just  so  opice, 


CONGRATULATIONS.  465 

—  once  only,  —  some  thirty  years  ago,  on  the  morning 
after  George  was  born. 

How  radiant  with  life,  and  strength,  and  new-born 
hope  the  young  man  was  !  With  what  natural  cordial 
ity  and  grateful  warmth  he  greeted  each  old  friend,  and 
responded  to  each  word  of  welcome  ?  How  worthy  he 
Avas  to  be  the  centre  of  a  wondering,  admiring  group, 

—  the  tall,  handsome,  manly  fellow,  —  the  village  pride 
always,  in  view  of  what  Nature  had  done  for  him ;  the 
village  hero  now,  in  view  of  what  he  had  done  for  him 
self! 

Not  that  he  boasted  of  his  own  achievements.  It  was 
his  upright  countenance,  his  independent  bearing,  the 
facts  of  his  career,  which  spoke  so  undeniably  in  his 
favor.  As  to  what  it  rested  with  him  to  communicate, 
never  was  story  more  simply  told.  A  wide  experience 
of  men  and  things  might  destine  him  to  become  the 
future  oracle  of  this  and  one  or  two  succeeding  genera 
tions,  on  topics  and  events  of  universal  interest  ;  but 
neither  now,  nor  afterwards,  did  he  claim  for  himself, 
or  his  own  exploits,  other  than  a  subordinate  part. 

Self-exaltation,  indeed,  was  a  trait  little  likely  to  be 
come  ingrafted  on  George's  character.  Knowledge  of 
the  world,  a  life  of  action,  a  crueler  discipline  than  often 
falls  to  human  lot,  had  taught  him  justly  to  estimate 
his  own  manhood,  and  promptly  to  assert  his  independ 
ence,  while  his  every  look  and  movement  gave  evidence 
of  the  force,  the  vigor,  the  decision  of  purpose  which  he 
had  acquired  in  the  school  of  a  stern  experience.  But  it 


466  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

was  gennino  jrrowth,  not  paltry  c'j-oti-m  :  ii  "'as  worth, 
not  vanity.  Tin-  youth,  who  wa-  ahvav-  ready  to  bear 
mon-  than  his  -hare  of  the  world's  blame,  and  reap  the 
smallot  fraction  of  it-  reward-.  mLdit  ri-e  in  tin*  scale  of 
v  manhood  by  learning  a  lesson  of  -elf-re-peet  :  hut  lie 
was  not  likely  to  sink  into  the  contemptible  poltroonery 
of  blowing  his  own  trumpet. 

Something  of  the  simple  candor,  the  honest 
ciaiion.  which  still  forbade  him  to  accept  unearned  p 
mnnile.-t.'d  it-elf  continually  in  the  earnestness  with 
which  (Jeorge  protested  airainst  the  encomiums,  and 
qualified  even  the  congratulations  of  the  neighborhood. 

"  Don't  say  too  much  about  that,"  he  again  and 
again  exclaimed,  in  response  to  the  frequently  ex 
pressed  approbation  of  hi-  -jiiriied  conduct  in  break 
ing  away  from  the  narrow  sphere  of  home.  ]n<  per- 
severanc.-  under  ilillieultie-.  hi-  enterprisinir  career, 
and  the  responsible  position  lie  had  achieved.  "You 
speak  of  what  I  have  accomplished,  but  you  forget 
all  the  duties  left  undone  during  those  long  year-. 
the  blessings,  the  opportunities,  even  the  good  name 
that  I  despised  and  abandoned  for  the  sake  of  adventure 
and  change.  AVhen  I  think  of  my  poor  old  mother. 
so  shamefully  deserted,  of  uncle  l.aultie's  terrible 
death  coming  so  soon  after,  of  the  old  folks'  loneliness 
and  poverty,  and  what  I  mi'.dit  have  been  to  them.  I  feel 
almost  iilad  of  all  I  sulVeivd  in  Algiers,  for  I  deserved  it. 
Ifememl.er  that.  .Johnny."  —  ami  he  laid  hi*  hand  on 
the  head  of  a  youthful  li-teiier.  who  had  accompanied  his 


CONGRATULATIONS.  467 

parents,  the  good  blacksmith  and  his  wife,  on  their  visit 
of  welcome,  —  "  remember,  if  ever  you  get  discontented 
and  rebellious,  and  tempted  to  run  away,  that  though  some 
folks  may  say,  as  in  my  case,  '  all's  well  that  ends  well,' 
/tell  you  that  hard  work,  and  starving,  and  chains,  and 
all  the  bitterness  of  slavery,  won't  seem  to  you  too  hard 
a  punishment  for  your  ingratitude  and  disobedience. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  leave  them  so  suddenly,  and  without 
a  word  of  good-by,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  black 
smith,  and  making  haste  to  explain  what  seemed  the 
darkest  and  most  unnatural  part  of  his  conduct.  "  I  was 
as  far  as  possible  from  intending  to  leave  behind  me  the 
bad  name  of  a  runaway,  worse  still,  of  a  suicide  ;  but  I 
hadn't  time  or  heart  to  write.  I  left  my  messages  (and 
here  again  I  was  to  blame  ;  I  had  no  business  to  keep 
such  company)  with  a  man  named  Bly,  —  a  bad  fellow^, 
who  had  been  about  the  town  for  some  time.  You  have 
heard  about  him  ?  You  know ." 

The  blacksmith  nodded  intelligently  —  he  knew  all 
about  him  ;  the  evidence  given  yesterday  in  court  in  ref 
erence  to  the  Baultie  Rawle  case  was  town  talk  already. 

"  I  didn't  suspect  then  that  he  was  such  a  hardened 
fellow,  or  that  he  was  in  league  with  men  worse  than 
himself.  It's  plain  enough  now  how  my  messages  mis 
carried.  He  fled  the  country,  no  doubt,  almost  as  soon 
as  I  did." 

u  And  your  letter  to? "  the  questioner  hesitated, 

for  Stein  sat  listening,  and  the  considerate  blacksmith 
did  not  care  to  introduce  Peter's  name  in  this  connec- 


468  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

tion.  "The  letter,  you  know,  that  insult-  u-  so  sartain 
sure  you'd  made  away  with  yerself,  Geordie —  that 
went  straight?" 

44  O,  yes,  the  letter — that  was  a  different  thing:  it's 
•  -a-v  enough  to  send  or  deliver  a  letter  you  know  ;"  and 
tn  i-vade  furt IHT  inquiry  on  this  point,  George  cha 
tlie  subject.  He;  did  not  think  it  neccs>ary  to  mention 
that  he  had  intrusted  the  Inter,  as  \\.-ll  as  tin-  message, 
to  Bly.  He  was  careful  to  avoid  an  acknowledgment 
which  might  implicate  Peter  Stein,  hy  pro\  ini:  when  and 
through  whom  he  must  ha\e  received  tliis  eommunica- 
tion.  Nor,  for  the  same  reason,  when  the  conversation 
turned  upon  the  strange  coincidence,  which  had  led  to  the 
recovery  and  identification  (as  had  been  so  long  believed) 
of  his  own  body,  did  George  attempt  to  throw  any  light 
upon  the  subject,  though  he  had  yesterday  declared  in 
confidence  to  Van  Ilauseii.  his  perfect  recollection  of  hav 
ing  left  the  coat  which,  with  its  contents,  had  led  to  the 
supposed  recognition  of  the  corpse,  in  his  cou.-in  1'eter's 
attic  chamber,  on  occasion  of  his  last  vi.-it  to  the  tavern. 
44 1  was  excited  and  feverish,"  he  had  said,  in  explanation 
of  this  circumstance.  4t  The  coat  was  heavy  and  oppiv  — 
sive.  I  tossed  it  off  there  just  before  I  went  out  on  the 
race-course  with  Nancy.  I  expected  to  go  back  and  get 
it  that  night;  but  you  know  how  it  was  —  how  I  was 
threatened,  and  driven  from  the  house.  I  wouldn't  ha\e 
crossed  the  door-way  again  for  my  rLdit  hand.  God 
t'TL'ive  me,  uncle  Dick,"  the  tender-hearted  young  man 
had  e\«  hiiined,  with  trembling  voice,  as  recollections 


CONGRATULATIONS,  469 

thronged  thick  upon  him  at  this  crisis  of  his  story  ;  "it 
lies  like  a  dead  weight  on  my  conscience  to-day,  but  I 
was  mortally  angry  with  uncle  Baultie  that  night ;  I 
had  wicked  thoughts  of  him,  and  of  my  uncle  Stein  too, 
not  murderous  ones  —  Heaven  forbid  that  such  an  infer 
nal  idea  as  that  should  ever  have  crossed  my  mind,  — 
but  bitter,  revengeful  thoughts  burned  in  me  like  a  fire, 
and  I  sinned  against  that  old  man  in  my  heart." 

"  Not  a  bit  on't,  not  a  bit  on't,"  had  been  Dick's  cheery 
reply.  "  I  only  wish  I'd  been  there,  my  boy,  to  back 
you  up.  Stein,  the  double-faced  rascal,  told  me  what 
happened  that  night,  an'  I  knew  purty  well  what  had 
gone  afore.  But  that  your  uncle  Baultie's  mind  had  been 
pizened,  and  he  was  in  his  grave,  —  a  bloody  one,  —  and 
that  the  Lord's  hand  was  an'  is  heavy  on  Diedrich  Stein, 
I'd  ha'  spoke  my  mind  'fore  now,  so  that  it  should  ha* 
rung  through  the  Jarseys.  They  driv  you  desp'rate 
atween  'em,  that's  what  they  did.  But  I'm  glad  you 
didn't  make  way  with  yerself,  G-eordie,  as  we  all  believed 
yer  had.  I  stood  up  fur  yer,  my  boy  (slapping  him  on 
the  back)  ;  yes,  an'  I  believe  I  would  ha'  stood  up  fur 
yer  at  the  judgment ,  but  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  yer'd 
done  it.  I  never  could  quite  get  it  out  o'  my  head  that 
it  might  go  harder  with  yer  to  all  etarnity."  „ 

Van  Hausen  and  George,  harassed  by  the  many  yet 
inexplicable  circumstances  connected  with  the  tragedy  of 
Baultie's  death,  and  bearing  upon  the  mystery  that  hung 
round  George's  disappearance,  had  made  an  effort,  during 
the  interval  of  their  absence  from  the  "  Pipe  and  Bowl," 
40 


470  //•»  WT  '/•/;/;  y/A  t  /ITS. 

immediately  alter  the  trial  in  court,  to  obtain  an  inter- 
\  Jew  with  lily,  and  had  irone  together  t<»  tin' jail  for  that 
purpose,  lint  lily  wa-  exhausted,  literally  torpid  and 
i  -ihle  with  tin-  drain  already  made  upon  his  strength. 
The  jailer  had  wisely  discouraged  any  further  nttenij>t  to 
Me  or  comer.-e  with  him  that  ni-ht.  and  while  awaiting 
the  de\elopments  and  revelation-  which  mi.:,!  yet  be 
anticipated  from  this  -oiiree.  \"an  1  Ian-en  and  George 
mutually  a.L.rn-ed  to  a\«>id  as  much  M  ]M»sil»le  any  dis- 
cn -<ii-u  of  the  murder  or  its  agents  ;  and,  \\arned  by  the 
hint  which  had  droppeo^  from  lily  in  open  court,  they 
were  especially  careful  to  avoid  any  confession  which 
mi-lit  involve  IVter  Sieiu  in  the  all'air,  or  implicate  the 
old  landlord  himself. 

This  urgent  motive  tor  reticence  on  their  part,  as  well 
as  the  restraint  imposi-d  upon  e\ cry  tonj-m-  l>y  the  pres 
ence  of  the  willow  of  the  murdered  man.  >o  iv-trictrd  tin- 
curiosity  ofthe  nciirhhors  on  one  vital  Mil.jcct  ol'iutere-t,  M 
to  concentrate  it  all  the  more  intently  upon  the  only  other 
topic  of  comparable  importance;  and  George's  history 
and  experience,  from  the  moment  of  his  lea\  inir  Stein's 
IMains  to  that  of  his.  return,  was  demanded  in  so  many 
t'oi-ni-  and  by  ,-uch  ingenious  ([iici-irs,  that,  in  spile  ofhi- 
nutive  mode-ty.  he  could  not  refuse  to  LTatil'y  the  truly 
hearty  interest  of  the  neighborhood  by  tletailiu.LT  for  their 
beiieti;  the  ch iet'  event S  of  his  >1or\\ 

\\'ith  that  delicacy,  which  is  an  instinct  of  the  heart, 
not  an  acquirement  of  polite  circle-,  the-e  country  lblk< 
foi-l..»re  que-tiouiug  him  on  the  can-e  and  motive  of  his 


CONGRATULATIONS.  471 

sudden  self-exile.  They  spared  him  any  reference  to  his 
last  interview  with  his  uncle  Baultie,  to  the  tempest  of 
rage,  torment,  and  indecision  which  succeeded,  to  the 
night  of  vagrancy  and  exposure  spent  in  the  companion 
ship  of  Bly  —  a  companionship  not  only  suffered,  but 
sought  and  welcomed  by  the  youth,  in  his  extremity  of 
banishment  and  degradation.  They  never  knew,  George 
never  knew  himself,  until  he  recalled  and  weighed  it  in 
the  light  of  recent  developments,  the  nature  and  extent 
of  the  temptation  to  which  he  was  exposed  in  that  bitter 
est  hour  of  his  life.  Innocence,  even  comparative  inno 
cence,  is  sometimes  its  own  protector.  George  had 
comprehended  the  sophistry  with  which  Bly  reasoned 
upon  his  wrongs,  the  scheme  darkly  hinted  at  by  which 
he  might  seek  compensation.  He  knew  the  character  of 
his  associate  well  enough  to  suspect  that  he  lived  by  a 
low  system  of  swindling,  and  that  he  would  not  object 
to  sharing  ill-gotten  gains  ;  but  he  hardly  believed  him  in 
earnest  in  the  proposition  to  purloin  his  uncle's  savings  ; 
indeed,  he  was  so  preoccupied  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
truths  forced  home  to  him  by  Ely's  analysis  of  his  situa 
tion  and  prospects,  as  to  be  in  some  degree  insensible  to 
the  base  insinuations  which  accompanied  them.  His 
own  degraded  position,  the  danger  of  sinking  lower  yet, 
to  which  his  present  associations  and  companionships 
exposed  him,  the  door  of  hope  and  relief  which  change 
and  emigration  afforded,  these  were  the  suggestions  on 
the  part  of  Bly  which  absorbed  his  mind  so  utterly  as 
to  exclude  any  realizing  sense  of  the  pitfall  of  crime  to 


HAUNTED  HEARTS. 

Bly  was  thus  paving  the  way.  It  was  these  which 
inspired  him  with  the  sudden  resolution  to  seek  A 
leurn  hi*  standing  and  fate,  and  act  upon  that  knowledge. 
And  when,  scorned  by  her,  and  branded  with  di-_ 
by  both  his  uncles,  he  was  wrought  almost  to  frenzy, 
even  his  frenzy  took  its  character  from  the  generosity 
and  hannlessness  of  a  nature  which  had  never  wronged 
or  injured  aught  in  the  world  but  itself.  Blind  indigna 
tion,  impotent  anger,  possessed  him  for  a  while,  but  its 
only  fruit  was  self-contempt,  indifference  to  fate  and  for 
tune,  or  at  most  a  desperate  determination  to  rid  the 
world  —  his  little  world  of  home  and  neighborhood — of 
what  his  uncle  had  branded  as  a  public  nuisan<  »•.  to 
accept  the  chances  of  a  new  destiny,  and,  following  Nick 
Ely's  advice,  to  put  sea  and  land  between  himself  and 
every  thing  he  had  known  and  been  in  the  past. 

In  vain  Bly,  taking  advantage  of  his  condition  and 
necessities,  strove  to  ingraft  upon  this  state  of  mind 
the  covetous  desires,  the  implacable  hate,  the  readiness 
for  some  overt  act  of  revenge,  which  might  aid  his  dark 
schemes  and  those  of  his  instructor  and  employer,  Bullet. 
George  was  either  deaf  to  his  temptations  and  hints,  or 
but  dimly  aware  of  their  atrocious  significance.  Once 
or  twice,  indeed,  as  during  their  dialogue  in  the  stable, 
.-tartled  and  shocked  by  epithets  and  threats  agaii. 

.  which  even  the  mo*t  vuljrar  and  ex  a '_'  Derated 
sympathy  with  his  own  WTOIIL'-J  rould  not  warrant,  or 
disgusted  with  hints  at  which  his  honest  soul  revolted. 
George  had  turned  upon  Bly  with  a  sudden  curse  upon 


COXGEATULATIOXS.  47'J 

his  depravity  in  believing  him  capable  of  coveting  the 
old  man's  gold,  or  wishing  him  any  harm.  He  little 
dreamed  that  what  seemed  to  him  but  the  rank  weeds  of 
a  night's  growth  had  a  rooted  purpose  in  a  heart  deeper 
and  harder  than  that  of  Bly  ;  that  snares  set  unsuccess 
fully  for  him  would  ever  be  laid  elsewhere ;  or  his 
uncle's  money  and  life  prove  the  bait  and  the  price. 

And  Bly.  perceiving  with  surprise  that  the  simplicitv 
and  uprightness  of  George's  mind  were  uuperverted  by 
injustice,  and  despairing  of  finding  in  him  a  convert  and 
accomplice  to  crime,  checked  his  confidences  at  the  point 
where  they  verged  on  a  betrayal  of  the  wicked  plot,  and 
adroitly  contrived  to  dispel  the  shadow  of  suspicion  he 
had  excited.  Partly  to  aid  this  latter  purpose,  partly, 
perhaps,  from  a  natural  disposition  to  oblige  an  old  com 
rade,  he  had  received,  and  undertaken  to  transmit  to 
George's  mother,  after  allowing  him  a  reasonable  time 
in  which  to  quit  the  country,  a  message  of  farewell,  and 
a  promise  to  write  whenever  he  had  any  thing  satisfac 
tory  to  communicate. 

The  disposition  to  oblige  could  have  extended  no  fur 
ther  than  a  willingness  to  set  George's  mind  at  rest,  for 
Bly  had  no  expectation  of  fulfilling  this  filial  injunction  : 
he  foresaw,  too  well,  an  event  wbich  would,  within 
twenty-four  hours,  render  him  a  refugee  and  an  outlaw. 
It  was  with  a  more  faithful  purpose  that  lie  took  charge 
of  the  letter  to  Peter  Stein,  for  which  he  even  furnished 
the  writing  materials.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Bly 
had  that  very  evening  probed  George  on  the  subject  of 
40* 


171  //"i  UXTTWD  in-  i  /.•  PJ 


hi-  mi'-le'-  name:  probably  In-  had  taken  the 
pr.  caution  t<>  ha\e  the  mean-  at  hand  for  the  execution 
of  -nrh  an  iiiMrmncnt  ;  at  all  e\eiit>  In-  W&t  a>  well  pre 
pared  as  a  private  Becntaty,  and  on  George's  explaining 
the  purport  of  his  intended  communicat  inn.  div\v  from 
hi-  pocket  a  crumpled  sheet  of  paper,  a  little  vial  of  ink. 
and  a  stump  of  a  pen,  and,  seated  under  the  shelter  of  a 
shed,  in  \\  hi  eli  the  midnight  vagrants  had  sought  refuge, 
he  lit  and  held  his  lantern  for  George's  use,  while  he, 
honorable  to  the  last,  penned  the  document  whi<  h  should 
make  «.\,-r  to  Peter  the  ownership  of  the  forfeited  mare. 

I'n.l.al'ly  lily  had  an  interest  in  this  transaction,  as  he 
had  lately  had  in  most  of  Peter's  fraudulent  gains.  At 
all  events  he  faithfully  delivered  the  letter,  for  which,  as 
will  be  seen,  a  convenient  opportunity  was  nut  wanting. 

It  was  for  the  fulfilment  of  these  simple  and  innocent 
obligations,  and  for  the  sake  of  some  sympathy,  some 
enmpanion>hip.  thoiiLrli  it  might  be  the  worst,  that 
George  had  aeeepied  in  the  first  instance,  and  finallv 
claimed  Bly's  offer  of  help  in  case  of  sudden  emergency. 
And,  suspicious  as  their  intcrcouse  mi^ht  Stem,  that  \\a< 
all.  Fallen  as  George  was,  the  moral  gull'  between  him 
and  lily  wa-  too  wide  to  be  bridged  over  by  misery  on 
the  one  side  and  temptation  on  the  other,  and  they  parted 
with  that  sort  of  amity  which  is  based  on  a  mutual  sense 
of  the  world's  nnkindne>s.  but  Grangers  to  each  other's 
future. 

The  following  daybreak,  which  found  lily  at  a  secret 
reiide/vous  of  himself  and  hi-  accomplices,  saw  George 


CONGRATULATIONS.  475 

plodding  on  toot  towards  New  York,  bent  on  obtaining  a 
berth  in  some  vessel,  bound  somewhere,  and  that  imme 
diately  ;  any  vessel,  any  port,  he  cared  not  what,  so  that 
it  took  him  as  far  as  possible  from  the  scenes  of  his  dis 
grace, —  as  far  as  might  be  from  his  former  self. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  his  history  that  the  friendly 
circle  gathered  about  him  felt  privileged  to  institute 
inquiries,  and  this  was  the  crisis  which  served  as  the 
commencement  of  his  oft-repeated  narrative.  He  was 
fortunate  enough,  so  he  told  them  (or  unfortunate 
enough,  he  would  sometimes  add,  "  seeing  all  that  came 
of  it,"),  to  ship  before  the  mast,  with  a  promise  of  clearing 
at  once  for  sea.  The  ship's  officers  barely  allowed  him 
time  to  go  back  and  visit  home  and  friends  once  more,  — 
an  impulse  he  could  not  resist.  He  had  walked  all  the 
way  to  the  city,  and  returned  the  same  day  by  a  circu 
itous  route,  sometimes  across  the  fields,  for  he  was  re 
solved  to  avoid  all  acquaintances,  all  interrogation  ;  and 
an  hour  or  two  before  midnight  had  packed  his  little 
bundle,  taken  a  last  look  of  his  mother  (he  omitted  all 
mention  of  that  other  leave-taking  at  the  Cousin  farm 
house),  and  was  again  on  his  way  to  New  York. 
Early  the  next  morning  his  vessel  set  sail  with  a  fine 
breeze,  and  he  was  soon  far  enough  away  to  satisfy  the 
bitter  cravings  of  his  heart. 

It  was  probable  that  George  took  easily  and  naturally 
to  the  sea,  as  he  always  had  taken  to  every  mode  of  life 
that  called  for  courage,  muscular  power,  activity  of  all 
the  senses  ;  and  this  conclusion  seemed  warranted  by  the 


476  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

rapid  promotion  he  had  recently  achieved.  But,  acmrd- 
ing  to  his  own  de.-cription.  tin-  vajtLgt  was  an  ordinary 
voyage,  and  he  himself  an  ordinary  seaman  merely, 
until  the  occurrence  of  that  event  in  which  most  of  his 
later  experience  was  involved,  namely,  the  capture  of  tin- 
vessel  and  her  civ\v  l»v  AlLTcrine  mr.-air-.  Urn-  began 
that  portion  of  George's  narrative  which  was  made  up 
of  \iolence,  tyranny,  and  suffering  in  the  actual  endur 
ance,  but  which  in  the  recapitulation  possessed  feature- 
of  such  novelty,  mystery,  and  horror  as  invested  it  with 
all  the  charm  of  a  romance.  To  describe  the  people 
and  the  country  in  which  his  captivity  was  passed,  and 
relate  in  detail  all  the  distinguishing  traits  of  Moorish 
barbarism  which  had  come,  under  his  observation,  wa- 
George's  especial  province  ;  the  misery  and  torture 
endured  by  the  wretched  eaptives  of  the-e  Barbary 
n>r-airs  is  the  province  of  history,  and  I  have  no 
design  of  intruding  upon  either.  But  tin-re  was  one 
circumstance  of  George's  individual  experience  which 
had  too  striking  an  effect  upon  his  character  and  pros 
pects  to  be  omitted,  more  especially  as  George  himself 
was  never  known  to  furnish  more  than  a  one-sided  repre 
sentation  of  it.  And  this  was  tin-  union,  more  \ital  than 
any  that  chains  could  impose,  between  him  and  his 
vouthful  fellow-Captive,  a  mere  boy.  delicately  nurtured. 
and  seeking  recreation  and  in\  i'_r«rated  health  in  a  voyage 
from  South  America  to  New  York,  and  thence  to  the 
.Mediterranean.  During  three  years  spent  together  in 
slavery,  George  and  this  youth  were  never  separated. 


CONGRATULATIONS.  477 

dragging  a  common  chain  and  a  common  lot.  Of  the 
love  George  bore  this  boy,  of  the  motive  with  which  this 
love  inspired  him,  of  the  wealth  of  knowledge  which  he 
had  gained  from  his  well-stored  brain  (for  what  did 
one  know  that  the  other  did  not  acquire  ?)  George  was 
never  slow  to  speak  in  the  most  grateful  terms,  blessing- 
God  for  the  one  alleviation  to  his  miseries  which  the 
society  of  his  companion  afforded.  But  it  remained  for 
after  years,  and  the  eloquent  tongue  of  the  youth  himself, 
to  tell  of  the  days  of  labor  in  which  George  often  per 
formed  both  their  tasks,  the  nights  of  watching,  when  the 
stronger  soothed  the  weaker's  pain,  of  the  brave  heart 
that  never  faltered,  the  cheerful  word  that  was  never 
wanting,  the  smile  of  hope  which  outlived  hope  itself, 
and  all  the  unselfish,  heroic  efforts  by  which  courage, 
reason,  and  life  were  preserved  in  the  frail  form  which, 
but  for  its  benefactor,  friend,  and  more  than  brother, 
must  have  died  daily. 

Nor  when  at  last  this  pair  of  suffering,  half-starved 
wretches,  were,  by  the  prowess  of  our  infant  navy,  re 
leased  from  their  hopeless  bondage  ;  when  one  too  feeble 
to  rise  could  only  crawl  to  the  feet  of  their  deliverers, 
and  the  other  hollow-eyed  and  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  was 
scarcely  less  a  subject  for  compassion,  did  George  dream 
of  freeing  himself  from  the  charge  with  which  he  had  so 
long  been  shackled,  or  of-  handing  the  sick  youth  over  to 
other  guardianship  than  his  own.  During  the  voyage  to 
Syracuse,  to  which  port  they  were  conveyed  in  a  gunboat 
attached  to  the  American  squadron,  George's  strength. 


478  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

was  partially  recuperated,  and  though  his  companion  still 
continued  in  an  invalid  condition,  George  did  not  he.-itate 
to  decline  for  both  any  further  assistance  from  the  A:aer- 
ican  government,  Ms  independent  spirit  assurini:  him  that 
hr  could  thnurforth  provide  for  his  own  and  his  friend's 
•wants.  He  at  once  secured  for  himself  a  place  as  seaman 
in  a  vessel  bound  to  Liverpool,  rn^a^injr,  at  the  same 
time,  as  the  price  of  his  earnings  on  the  voyage,  a  pas 
senger's  berth  for  his  companion.  The  latter  had  faith 
that  on  arriving  in  Kugland  the  credit  his  father's  mer 
cantile  house  possessed  abroad  would  enable  him  to  ob 
tain  funds  ;  but  he  was  disappointed  in  this.  The  house 
in  Surinam  had  within  a  few  years  made  a  change  in 
their  foreign  agencies,  and  when  at  last  the  youth  di-r..\- 
ered  his  father's  present  correspondents  in  England,  tin  y 
had  never  even  heard  of  his  existence,  and  refused  to 
trust  his  story,  fraught,  as  it  seemed  t«>  them,  with  im 
probability. 

r> nt  George  was  more  fortunate.  He  had  already,  on 
the  voyage  from  Syracuse,  been  promoted  to  the  duties 
and  pay  of  the  second  mate,  who  was  disabled  by  sick- 
ness.  At  the  recommendation  of  his  captain  he  now 
obtained  in  Liverpool  the  position  of  first  officer  in  a  \«-  — 
>cl  about  to  >;\\\  lor  the  Bermudas,  with  tin-  .-tipulutiou, 
as  before,  of  a  passage  for  his  friend:  and  this  Toyagfe 
.-afcly  completed,  the  young  man  found  no  difficulty  iu 
shipping  for  Surinam,  to  which  point  QeOfgG  had  made 
it  his  first  duty  to  accompany  hi.-  invalid  companion. 
The  restoration  of  the  \«mtli  to  home  and  Iriends,  who 


CONGRATULATIONS.  479 

had  long  since  given  him  up  for  lost,  involves  points  of 
interest  sufficiently  obvious,  but  too  manifold  to  be  even 
touched  upon  here.  The  unbounded  gratitude  of  his 
parents  to  the  man  who  had  in  so  many  senses  been  the 
preserver  of  his  life,  may  also  be  fairly  presumed.  Nor 
is  the  deduction  any  less  certain,  drawn  from  what  we 
know  of  George's  character,  that  he  disclaimed  any  title 
to  gratitude  or  praise  ;  that  his  great  heart  revolted  at  the 
thought  that  friendship  could  be  any  thing  less  than  its 
own  reward,  or  that  the  reciprocal  service  affection  ren 
ders  ever  could  be  weighed.  But  although  the  inde 
pendent  spirit  he  thus  evinced  prohibited  the  head  of  a 
prosperous  mercantile  house  from  offering  to  the  penniless 
sailor  any  compensation  for  past  devotion  to  his  invalid 
son  and  heir,  though  it  was  with  reluctance  that  George 
even  permitted  the  price  of  his  friend's  passage  from  port 
to  port  to  be  refunded,  his  own  nature  was  so  truly  gen 
erous,  so  free  from  either  servility  or  false  pride,  that  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  accept,  with  the  same  candor  with 
which" it  was  offered,  that  countenance,  aid,  and  advance 
ment  of  his  interests  which  grew  naturally  out  of  his 
friendly  and  sympathetic  relations  with  the  family  of  the 
Surinam  merchant. 

That  the  latter  should  urge  upon  him  the  captaincy  of 
the  "Antelope,"  a  fine  little  bark  then  in  port,  was,  no 
doubt,  the  prompting  of  an  almost  paternal  instinct  in  his 

Welfare  and  success  ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  a  promo- 

\ 
tion  in  George's  legitimate  profession,  for  which  he  had 

fitted  himself  by  diligence  and  devotion  to  his  calling. 


480  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

It  was  on  the  shipowner's  assurance  of  faith  in  his  ability, 
and  not  on  the  grounds  of  a  blind  partiality,  that  George 
accepted  the  post;  a  post  forwiiich  he  had  resolved  to 

pr«»\e  his  worihine.-s  before  ever  returning  to  his  country, 
or  reporting  himself  to  the  friends  who  must  long  since 
ha\e  mentally  numbered  him  among  the  dead.  And 
who,  moreover.  a>  tin-  event  proved,  could  have  recerred 
so  cordially,  and  executed  so  promptly,  the  commission  iu- 
trusted  to  him  against  those  scourges  of  the  sea  at  \\h<  < 
hands  the  merchant  had  suffered  only  less  than  the 
lather?  On  the  whole,  I  may  safely  assert,  that  al 
though  George  could  now  boast  the  title  and  dignity  of 
an  experienced  shipmaster,  and  could  flatter  himself  that 
his  recent  voyage  had  proved  in  all  respects  a  successful 
and  profitable  one  to  himself  and  his  owners,  the.-e 
triumphs  were  not  the  result  of  favoritism  but  of  his 
own  desert-. 

And  I  may  safely  assert  that  this  was  the  conclusion 
arrived  at  by  the  rustic  crowd  that  flocked  around  him 
on  this  Christmas  morning,  claiming  his  notice  and  rec 
ognition,  and  vying  with  each  other  in  demonstrations 
of  cordiality  and  good  will.  Nor,  though  I  claim  for 
George  the  credit  of  a  modest  and  unpretending  bearing 
in  his  new  character  of  a  village  hero,  can  I  deny  that 
his  fellow-townsmen  were  not  a  little  inflated  at  the  dis 
tinction  which  had  befallen  the  neighborhood,  and  that 
e \.r  after,  in  rehear.- in;_r  his  adventures  and  exploits  for 
the  benefit  of  strangers,  they  would  emphasize,  with  no 
lit  lie  complacency,  the  fact  that  the  subject  of  them  all 
was  born  and  brought  up  at  Stein's  Plains. 


CONGRATULATIONS.  481 

But  of  all  the  visitors  at  the  cottage  that  day  there  was 
none  whose  demeanor  was  so  striking  and  so  inexplicable 
as  that  of  Diedrich  Stein, — old  Stein,  as  he  was  univer 
sally  called  now.  One  would  have  thought  that  there 
might  be  recollections  in  Stein's  breast  that  would 
embarrass  him,  and  keep  him  away.  But,  on  the  con 
trary,  he  came  early  and  staid  late.  It  was  reasonable 
to  suspect  that  he  would  be  on  the  alert  to  catch  every 
breath  of  rumor  and  weigh  every  word  that  might  im 
plicate  his  son,  his  tavern,  or  himself  in  the  mysteries 
and  crimes  now  being  unravelled  and  brought  to  light. 
But  though  he  sat  in  one  seat,  almost  in  one  posture,  all 
day,  listened  intently,  and  pricked  up  his  ears  more 
sharply  than  ever  at  any  allusion  that  struck  home,  he 
did  not  seem  to  be  there  as  a  spy,  still  less  as  an  enemy. 

The  expression  of  his  face  was  that  of  unmitigated  awe 
and  wonder,  as  if  a  miracle  had  been  performed  in  his 
presence.  He  surveyed,  followed,  watched  George  with 
an  admiring,  almost  a  deferential  gaze.  He  seemed  posi 
tively  grateful  to  his  nephew  for  the  cordial  greeting, 
which  betrayed  no  remembrance  of  past  injuries,  and  for 
the  hospitality  which  endured  his  presence  in  the  cottage, 
and  even  summoned  him  to  the  table  when  dinner  was 
ready ;  a  sanction  for  which  latter  act  it  required  all 
George's  tact  and  coaxing  to  wring  from  his  aunt  Han 
nah.  It  could  not  be  the  Christmas  fare  for  which  Stein 
thus  lingered  ;  for  though  Angle,  suspicious  that  he  meant 
to  stay,  naively  took  care  to  roast  his  one  fowl  for  him, 
he  ate  little  of  that  or  any  thing  else,  but  sat  close  at 
41 


482  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

George's  elbow,  watching  him  curve  and  eat,  as  he  might 
have  watched  a  king  at  his  repaM. 

Could  it  IK-  that  this  withered,  lonely  old  miser  had 
for  five  years  been  a  prey  to  ivm»>i>e?  Could  ii  lie  tha*. 
<>\era\\ed  and  humbled  at  George's  reappearance,  he 
dwelt  upon  him  with  greedy  incredulity?  Could  it  be  that. 
disappointed  and  degraded  l.y  the  children  ti»r  wlmm  he 
had  sold  his  soul  to  Mammon.  In-  bowed  and  bent  in  ad 
miring  homage  before  the  success  of  the  youth  whom  In- 
had  systematically  wronged.  It  looked  like  it ;  but  Han 
nah  Rawle  gave  him  credit  for  no  Mich  uncharacteristic 
traits. 

"  Don't  go  without  taking  him  'long  with  yer,"  she 
signified  by  a  sign  to  her  brother  Dick,  who  had  modestly 
delayed  his  visit  until  nightfall,  and  who,  at  a  late  hour 
in  the  evening,  despairing  of  a  chance  to  outstay  Stein, 
or  get  a  private  word  with  George,  at  length  rose  to  go. 

And  when  they  had  gone,  —  for  Van  Hausen  took  the 
hint,  and  without  mincing  matters  ga\e  Stein  warning 
that  the  household  were  tired  and  it  was  time  he  went 
home,  —  Hannah  shook  her  fist  at  him  before  he  was  well 
out  of  the  door,  and  muttered  audibly,  "  You  old  rogue, 
you  !  what  new  dodge  is  this  yer  up  tcr  ?  But  we'll  be 
equal  with  yer —  yer  game  's  played  out,  I  reckon." 


QUIET   DAYS.  483 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

QUIET   DAYS. 

Now  succeeded  quiet  days  at  the  cottage ;  not  so 
quiet,  not  so  monotonous  as  in  the  past,  for  the  old  life 
there,  that  dull  dream,  haunted  by  ghosts  of  the  memory 
and  whispers  of  the  imagination,  had  been  broken  up  and 
dispelled.  George's  presence  not  only  infused  that  ele 
ment  of  strength,  activity,  and  domestic  revolution  which 
is  the  masculine  prerogative,  but  by  removing  the  ban  of 
mourning  and  mystery  from  the  house,  exposed  it  to  those 
social  inroads  against  which  its  doors  had  so  long  been 
sealed. 

Still  Christmas  day,  that  first  day  of  congratulation 
and  rejoicing,  being  past,  those  that  followed  were  days 
of  comparative  repose  and  mental  reaction.  The  lives 
and  thoughts  of  the  cottage  inmates  settled  now  into  per 
manence  and  regularity.  Hannah  went  her  rounds  of 
domestic  inspection  and  oversight,  and  got  her  meals  and 
her  naps  at  the  customary  hours ;  Margery  by  degrees 
weaned  her  eyes  from  her  son's  face,  so  far  as  to  take 
cognizance  of  other  objects,  and  at  intervals  to  resume 


484  HAUXTED   HEARTS. 

her  knitting.  Angie  performed  her  accustomed  duties  with 
a  <-ulmness  and  placidity  which  were  in  strong  contrast 
t-»  the  tumultuous  and  pas.-ionate  agitation  which  she  had 
so  recently  c\  -hired,  and  with  the  self-reliant  energy  and 
\erance,  which,  as  Hannah  often  n>ed  to  say,  made 
In  r  weakness  worth  more  than  the  strength  of  other 
women.  Doubtless  it  grieved  George,  who  watched  her 
anxiously,  to  see  how  laborious  a  place  she  filled  in  the 
household,  though  it  might  well  have  been  merely  by  the 
force  of  former  habit  that  he  easily  and  naturally  re 
sumed  all  the  heavier  and  more  exposed  burdens  of  the 
family,  and  so  relieved  her  at  every  turn.  He  little  sus 
pected  how  light  all  labor  had  become  to  her  now  —  how 
work,  that  had  been  the  solace  of  her  pain,  was  scarcely 
less  a  necessity  to  her  in  her  joy  ;  and  how,  in  her  humble 
and  often  secret  cares  for  the  comfort  of  his  aunt,  his 
mother,  and  especiallv  of  him-elf,  her  love  and  irratitnde 
found  the  expression  and  vent  which  they  yearned  for, 
but  were  otherwise  denied. 

None  of  this  household,  thus  suddenly  and  strangely 
blessed  sat  down  to  the  idle  enjoyment  of  their  new  happi- 
.  and  so  suffered  it  to  pall  and  run  to  waste,  a-  all 
happiness  does  the  moment  it  is  rested  in,  and  weighed  as 
the  end  and  goal  of  life.  As  for  George  himself,  he  wa- 
full  of  intere.-ts  and  occupations,  in  which  all  the  others 
\\ere  more  or  less  involved.  I>e-idc>  his  \  i>it>  i«>  New 
York  on  duties  connected  with  his  vessel,  which  occupied 
ii"  -mall  part  of  his  time,  he  began  almost  immediately 
10  niediiale  and  carry  into  effect  schemes  of  improvement 


QUIET    DA  YS.  485 

and  repair  on  his  mother's  premises.  Years  of  exile  had 
not  only  intensified  George's  appreciation  of  home  com 
forts,  but  had  quickened  his  eye  and  hand  for  the  detec 
tion  and  supply  of  wants  and  deficiencies  which  he  had 
formerly  overlooked  or  been  powerless  to  remedy.  Five 
years  of  neglect  had  opened  a  wide  field  for  his  diligence  ; 
he  brought  no  fortune  to  aid  his  zeal,  but  his  honest  earn 
ings  had  made  him,  as  country  folks  say,  u  forehanded  ;  " 
and  the  material  being  supplied,  Van  Hausen  was  only 
too  ready  to  add  his  skill  to  the  young  man's  strength. 

It  was  not  without  many  a  sigh  of  pity,  many  an  ex 
clamation  of  pain,  that  George,  while  conducting  these 
repairs,  saw  at  every  turn,  in  the  dilapidation  of  the 
house  and  out-buildings,  evidences  of  the  poverty  and 
helplessness  of  their  occupants,  and  realized  under  what 
disadvantages  and  difficulties  these  poor  women  had  car 
ried  on  their  housekeeping  and  gardening,  and  managed 
to  maintain  life. 

And  it  was  not  without  heart  throbs,  that  seemed  to 
shake  their  old  frames  too  mightily,  that  Hannah  and 
Margery,  hobbling  or  creeping  twenty  times  a  day  from 
their  arm-chairs  to  the  windows,  marked  how  tumble 
down  fences  had  risen  as  if  by  magic ;  how,  in  the 
thawing  weather,  the  water  that  used  to  leak  in  every 
where  now  came  dripping  down  the  neatly  patched  roof, 
or  was  carried  off  to  the  cistern  by  the  new  water-spout ; 
how  proudly  the  old  cock  was  proclaiming  to  his  family 
the  glories  of  the  hen-coop  on  which  George  had  especially 
lavished  his  taste  and  ingenuity  ;  how  smoothly  the  well- 
41* 


.ISO  //  i  i '.v  TE  />    //AM  /:  r.5. 

curb,  ju-t  completed,  did  its  work,  and  how  easily  rick- 
eiy  door-  and  gate!  -wung  "ii  their  new  hinges. 

••  There  's  the  comfort  »>f  ha\  in'  a  man  on  tin-  phuv  !  " 
Ilan.iali  w«»uld  sav,  in  a  Betf-gratulatory  tone,  while  Mar 
gery.  >aying  nothing,  would,  as  >he  ga/ed  on  the  many 
proofs  of  her  son's  thoughtfilbtesfl  and  generosity,  feel 
that  thi'se  thin.ir-.  far  nunv  than  his  mlmst  form  and  mas- 
rnlini-  lieauty,  proclaimed  her  the  mother  of  one  who  was 
every  inch  a  man. 

But  though  the  energies  of  the  family  were  directed 

into    fruitful    channel,   and    their    sources  of   happine  — 

multiplied    rather   than    exhausted,    their    joy     wa< 

not  without    a    cloud.     The  Christmas    sun    had    shone 

through  or   n-atleivd    it.      The  holiday  hustle,  the   cheers 

and  congratulations  of  the  neighborhood  had  put   it  to 

fli-lit,  as  a  high  wind  drives  the  threatening  storm:  hut 
in  the  quiet  and  leisure  of  every-day  life  it  gathered 
again,  oli-mring  the  sunshine,  and  settling  like  a  shadow- 
on  fare-  that  would  otherwi-.-  have  >lione  with  gladn.'  — . 
It  \\a-nochani_e  that  had  come  over  their  condition  or 
pro-pret.-.  It  \\a<  no  new  and  painful  iv\  elation-:  on  the 
part  of  Bly,  from  whom  no  further  details  or  particulars 
had  yet  been  iverm-d.  It  wa<  nothing  that  was  feared; 
nothing  that  was  acknowledged  :  nothing  that  the  most 
prying  oh.-erver  could  detect.  Still  it  was  there. 
ri>ing  it<  MOrel  intluence.  making  it-elf  vaguely  felt. 
•alkin-_r  ii"l  hetwern  e\  e  and  eye,  but  between  heart  and 
heart* 

!     there    were    hearts    in    that     cottage    which 


QUIET   DA  YS.  487 

haunted  yet,  —  there  were  ghosts  of  the  memory,  spec 
tres  of  the  imagination,  which  darkened  the  daily  life, 
and  forbade  the  hope  of  a  cloudless  future. 

Hannah,  the  only  one  from  whose  lot  the  principal 
blight  neither  had  been  nor  could  be  removed,  and  who 
must  carry  her  widowed  heart  with  her  to  the  grave, 
was  the  only  one  who  did  not  come  under  the  cloud  to 
which  I  refer  ;  the  only  one  who  had  shaken  off  the 
weight  of  remorse,  and  dread,  and  bitter  memory.  She 
had  accomplished  her  life-work,  or  rather  it  had  been 
taken  out  of  her  hands  and  accomplished  for  her.  The 
suspense,  the  hatred,  the  revengeful  craving  were  satis 
fied.  Grief  at  her  old  man's  fate  had,  from  the  first, 
been  subordinate  to  these  master  passions  ;  and  now  that 
the  stronger  emotions  were  laid  to  rest,  the  weaker  only 
revived  so  far  as  to  add  another  to  the  softening,  subdu 
ing  influences  that  were  at  work  within  her.  Hannah 
was  changed  doubtless,  but  it  was  all  for  the  better. 
The  hard  rind  that  had  incrusted  her  heart  had  crum 
bled  and  fallen  away,  and  the  autumn  of  her  life  prom 
ised  riper  and  mellower  fruit  than  could  have  been  anti 
cipated  from  a  nature  so  knotted  and  gnarled.  She  had 
leisure  now  to  soften  and  ripen  for  another  world,  for 
her  soul  was  released  from  the  cares  and  troubles  of 
this? 

But  Margery,  poor  Margery,  had  found  no  such 
complete  release,  such  final  deliverance  from  the  shad 
ows  that  had  so  long  held  her  bound.  Her  maternal 
heart  had  revelled  a  while  in  bliss,  sunk  and  absorbed  in 


•1 SK  HA  U -V  T E D    HEARTS. 

the  simple  realization  of  her  son'-  iv-unvetiou  t<>  inno- 
ceoca  and  to  her.  lint  tliis  trance  of  bewilderment,  this 

ec-tacy  of joy,  c..uld   iml  outla-1    tin-  excitement  <>!'  tin1    til>t 

few  days,  and  instead  of  Mibsiding  into  calm  ami  peaceful 
satisfaction,  the  heart  that  had  so  long  been  tuned  to  woe 
was  destined,  gradually,  to  become  the  prey  of  fresh  tor 
tures.  Proud  as  the  mother  was  of  her  son,  sin-  could 
not  be  wholly  happy  in  him.  There  were  recollections 
that  haunted  her  soul.  She  would  sit  brooding  over 
them  for  hours,  inure  ,-ilcnt  than  e\er;  afraid  to  speak. 
afraid  to  indulge  the  .-igh  which  might  betray  the  subject 
of  her  morbid  reflections.  (  .  eye,  turning  on  her 

with  filial  love,  seemed  like  a  reproach.  She  dreaded 
every  allusion  to  a  pa -i  which  still  had  terrors  for  her 
imagination  to  dwell  upon.  AVhen  all  the  world  was  en 
vying  her  the  sou  who  had,  by  his  deed  of  daring,  con 
ferred  a  world-wide  benefit  on  humanitv.  her  heart  cried 
out,  "Jam  not  worthy  to  be  his  mother!"  AVhen  he 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  ki  — ed  her,  >he  trembled,  and 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  exclaiming,  "  My  boy  !  my 
boy!  take  back  your  kiss  !  You  would  hate  your  poor 
old  mother  if  y.ui  knew  the  wrong  she  had  done  you  in 
her  heart  ;  if  you  knew  (hat  all  these  years  she  had  1.. - 
lieNed  vou  a  murderer  !"  And  t  hi-  thought  NN  a-  poi-on 
to  her  peace.  It  humiliated  her  in  the  pre.-enee  of 
.  ,,\,-  hack  to  her  linle  pinched  feature-  their 
anxious,  watchful  cxpre  —  ioTT.  made  her  more  -by.  more 
r.-.-rvcd,  more  -elf-di.-tru-tful.  a  more  complete  nobody 

e\eii   than   before. 


QUIET  DAYS.  489 

Nor  was  Angie  any  less  the  victim  of  bitter  and  self- 
reproacliful  reflections.  Had  she  not  wronged  him  from 
first  to  last,  from  the  days  when  she  tyrannized  over 
him  in  the  past,  and  slighted  his  boyish  love,  up  to  the 
moment  when  that  cry  of  hers  in  the  court-room  was 
wrung  from  the  heart  that  imputed  guilt  where  there 
was  no  guilt?  What  part  could  she  claim  in  the  present 
triumph?  Humble  service,  joyfully  rendered  to  him 
and  his,  tears  of  thanksgiving  shed  in  secret,  grateful 
praises  to  the  Source  of  all  good,  these  were  her  portion  ; 
but  from  the  general  jubilee  she  felt  herself  an  outcast. 

So  she  went  about  her  daily  tasks  calm  and  pale  ;  and 
such  was  the  reaction  from  nervous  excitement,  such  the 
self-restraint  which  she  imposed  upon  herself,  that  amidst 
the  universal  rejoicing  she  alone  looked  sad.  Studiously 
avoiding  observation,  she  seldom  raised  her  eyes  from 
her  work  or  the  floor,  except  to  take  note  of  some  house 
hold  want,  or  supply  an  omission  to  somebody's  comfort. 
Otherwise  she  suffered  her  long  lashes  to  droop  upon  her 
cheek,  and  wore  on  her  face  that  meek  and  patient  ex 
pression,  which  of  late  had  become  habitual  with  her, 
but  which  was  unfamiliar  to  George. 

In  the  long  talks  that  took  place  round  the  fireside  at 
night  she  bore  scarcely  any  part.  The  tongue  that  used 
to  prattle  so  gayly,  charming  George  into  indifference  to 
all  other  speech,  had  learned  lessons  of  wisdom  and 
moderation  in  a  stern  school,  and  now  was  curbed  by 
more  than  ordinary  self-restraint.  So,  though  an  atten 
tive  and  absorbed  listener,  especially  to  those  stories  of 


490  HA  f  \   11    !>     II  1    A  /;  /'  S. 


's  experience  which  were  drawn  from  him  by  the 
curiosity  of  Hannah  Raul.-  and  Van  I  lauson,  she  rarely 
:>~ked  a  question  or  volunteered  a  remark. 

N<>r  was  tin"  frequently  rising  exclamation  often  per 
mitted  to  escape  her  lips,  nor  the  smile  of  sympathy  or 
tear  of  pity  that  would  not  be  repressed,  suffered  to  be- 
trav  tin-  intensity  <>f  her  interest,  for  occupying  as  usual 
her  low  -eat  cloM-  to  Mar-cry's  .-ide.  >he  was  partially 
sheltered  from  observation  by  the  person  of  the  old 
woman,  and  still  more  by  the  attitude  with  which,  stoop 
ing  towards  the  firelight,  she  would,  at  the  crisis  of  the 
st«»ry.  bend  her  head  over  Marjvry's  knitting-work  and 
busy  herself  in  taking  up  the  dropped  stitches,  or  repair 
ing  the  mistakes  of  which  the  once  expert  but  now  trem 
bling  fingers  of  Margery  were  continually  guilty. 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  cold  or  indifferent.  Quite 
the  reverse.  She  imposed  the>e  thing*  upon  herself  as 
a  penance.  Still  less  was  it  pride  that  actuated  her, 
for  remembrances  of  the  past  humbled  her  t<»  the  dust. 
She  kept  herself  aloof  as  an  alien,  a  foreigner,  one  who 
had  no  part  nor  lot  in  the  family,  except  by  sufferance, 
and  dared  not  give  expres.-ioii  to  feelings  which  she  hail 
lost  the  right,  as  she  thought,  to  indulge. 

Especially  did  >he  shrink  from  th,i<e  thoughtful  atten 
tions,  tho-e  brotherly  cares  on  George's  part,  which 
were  like  heaping  foals  of  I'm-  on  her  head.  She  even 
tried  to  evade  them,  to  do  every  thing  that  she  could 
without  his  help.  an<l  when  his  ^trong  arm  or  ready  hand 
forestalled  her,  I  am  afraid  she  did  not  thank  him  with 
half  the  warmth  his  kindness  merited. 


QUIET  DA  YS.  491 

* 

Worse  still,  he  had  brought  gifts  for  her  from  abroad. 
Was  there  still  some  remnant  of  hope  in  his  heart? 
Did  it  burn  higher  after  the  capture  of  the  pirate 
Bullet,  and  the  recognition  in  him  of  his  former  rival 
had  disposed  of  that  obstacle?  Or  would  he  have 
brought  these  things  all  the  same,  presented  them  to 
her  as  bridal  gifts  if  he  had  found  her  the  wife  of 
another,  decked  her  with  them  to  please  the  eye  of 
rival  lovers,  or  dedicated  them  to  her  memory  if  dead? 
I  will  almost  venture  to  affirm  the  latter,  so  disinterested, 
so  inevitable  a  part  of  himself  was  the  love  he  bore  her. 
At  all  events  they  must. have  been  meant  for  her,  and 
no  one  else,  so  exactly  were  they  calculated  to  please  her 
tastes,  so  utterly  unsuitable  to  the  wants  of  any  other 
friend  whom  he  had  left  behind  him. 

He  offered  them  to  her  with  such  simple  and  broth 
erly  cordiality,  merely  saying,  as  he  unpacked  his  sea- 
chest  in  the  kitchen,  "  Here,  this  is  for  you,  Angie,  and 
this  ;  O,  and  this  ! "  and  she  —  she  hardly  looked  at 
them,  dropped  them  upon  the  table  as  if  they  burned 
her  fingers,  and  presently,  without  an  expression  of 
pleasure  or  a  word  of  thanks,  left  the  room.  But  then 
she  was  compelled  to  choose  between  this  frigid  silence, 
this  abrupt  departure,  or  choking  words  of  expostulation, 
ending  in  a  flood  of  tears.  There  was  no  alternative, 
and  she  sought  shelter  in  the  former. 

Tt  was  a  pity  she  should  have  done  this  injustice  to 
herself  and  him.  She  might  have  been,  ought  to  have 
been,  as  ready  to  act  the  part  of  a  frank  friend  as  he  was 


492  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

to  prove  him-elf  an  affectionate  brother.     At  least  some 

w..men  M  mi-lit  and  mivlil.  I  ^  ill  not  .-ay  that  thi- 
•rai  possible  for  Airjie.  I  have  ne\er  claimed  for  her 
one  of  tho.-c  equally-balanced  and  harmonious  char.. 
which  can  coolly  wci-h  a  position,  or  drill  them.-elves  to 
a  uniform  propriety  of  action.  It  is  true  her  original 
traits  had  hern  Lrivatly  nibdued  and  modified.  But 
natures  so  intense  and  impetuous  a-  hers  must  always 
express  themselves  ill  characteristic  ta-liiun.  An-ie 
had  not  lost  her  identity,  and  she  must  he  pardoned  if 
hoth  her  feelings  and  her  beliay'mr,  under  lier  present 
painful  eireuinstanees,  partook  of  exaggeration. 

Still  it  was  n  pity  ;  for  of  course  George  misunderstood 
it  all,  was  confirmed  in  his  belief  that  >he  was  suffering 
cruel  mortification  at  discovering  in  the  pirate  Bullet 
the  lover  who  had  so  captivated  her  i'anev,  and  that 
she  was  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  horror  at  his 
untimely  fate.  Of  course  lie  suspected  that  it'  she  had 
pined  for  any  one,  it  had  been  for  this  deceitful  i-allant  ; 
and  that  so  far  from  clieri-bini:  any  tenderness  for  him 
self,  she  was  more  than  ever  estranged  from  him  now 
that,  by  the  part  he  had  played  in  the  arrest  and  con\  ic- 
tionof  his  rival,  he  had,  to  say  the  lea.-t.  a— orialcd  liim- 
>cll'  in  her  mind  with  this  blow  t»  her  love  and  her  pride. 

lie  wa<  deeply  touched  at  the  intimate  and  mutually 
dependent  relations  which  existed  between  Anirie  and 
hi-  mother.  lie  wa-  astonished  at  the  confidence  and 
partiality  his  aunt  Hannah  manifested  towards  the 
former;  for  though  Hannah  had  a  rou^h  way  of  proving 


Q  UIET   DA  YS.  493 

it  (a  way  which  sometimes  disproved  it  in  strangers' 
eyes),  it  was  easy  for  one  who  knew  her  well  to  see  how 
completely  she  trusted  Angie,  approved  her  ways,  and  at 
times,  in  her  eccentric  fashion,  petted  and  praised  the  girl, 
who,  by  her  quick  wit  and  ready  tact,  exercised  vastly 
more  influence  over  her  than  any  young  person  had  ever 
possessed  before. 

George  felt  that  he  could  never  be  sufficiently  grateful 
to  one  who,  for  nearly  five  years,  had  served  the  old 
folks  so  faithfully.  He  was  proud  to  see  how  the  girl  of 
his  choice  had  commended  herself  to  his  nearest  rela 
tives  ;  as  for  himself,  he  would  be  her  true  friend  always, 
so  far  as  she  would  let  him.  More  than  that  he  did 
not  dream  of,  now  that  he  saw  how  wholly  her  heart 
was  estranged  from  him. 

And  so  these  two,  arguing  from  their  own  mistakes, 
drew  more  and  more  widely  apart  every  day.  Some 
times  the  thought  would  intrude  itself  upon  George  that 
this  coming  home,  to  which  he  had  looked  forward  so 
long,  and  often  so  hopelessly,  was  not,  after  all,  the  joy 
it  had  seemed  to  him  in  prospective.  Angie  (much  as 
he  loved  his  mother,  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  Angie 
first)  could  do  quite  as  well  without  him  as  with  him. 
Sometimes  it  even  seemed  as  if  he  were  in  her  way. 
His  mother,  since  the  first  joy  at  his  safe  return,  was 
dull,  spiritless,  and  did  not  appear  like  herself.  It  was 
true  she  had  always  been  dull  and  spiritless,  but  then  it 
was  an  open,  acknowledged  depression,  which  only  lay 
on  the  surface,  and  which  expended  itself  naturally  in  the 
42 


I'.M  HAl'X  /'/!>    FT  E  ARTS. 

"dearie  mc's  !  "  and  the  l.>nLr-drawn  ..  ]!0  —  hums!"  thnt 
proceeded,  douhtle».  from  a  weak  che-t  as  much  as  anv 
thing.  Now  In-  mistrusted  tliat  her  lifelr>s,  apathetic 
moods  hud  a  deeper  root ;  that  their  foundation  liad  been 
laid  in  those  long  years  of  de.-ertion  ami  loneliness  for 
which  it  was  too  late  now  lor  him  to  make  any  atone 
ment.  "My  poor  old  mother!  she  is  sadly  broken;  I 
oiiLrht  never  to  have  left  her  !  "  Such  was  the  conclusion 
of  his  reflections  in  Margery's  case. 

>rge  was  far  from  giving  way  to  these  de-ponding 
thoughts.  He  found  refuge  from  them  in  his  out-door 
labors,  his  excursions  in  the  neighborhood,  all  his  little 
plans  for  the  household  welfare.  If  the  lit'c-hlood  was 
getting  torpid  in  his  mother's  heart,  and  her  face  could 
not  be  made  glad  merely  by  his  presence,  he  could  at 
least  busy  himself  in  erecting  a  door-porch  to  keep  out 
the  cold,  or  in  cuttiiiLf  and  stacking  the  wood  which,  in 
the  form  of  a  good  fire,  would  be  -ure  to  re  fleet  a  glow 
on  her  face.  IfAngie  evaded  his  assistance,  or  found 
his  offers  of  service  oppressive,  he  could  eocarcuM  his  in 
genuity  in  secretly  providing  for  her  want-,  leaving  her 
to  the  supposition  that  it  had  lx CH  done  by  fairies. 

Then  he  had  always  a  resource  in  his  aunt  Hannah, 
who.  truly  blessed  in  her  nephew'-  .-<>ci,-ty.  reaped  the 
benefit  of  hi-  mother'.-  ,-ilcnce  and  An;jic'-  rr-er\e.  ina  — 
much  a-  (  ieiirjv'-  mo-t  animated  <allie<,  the  exuberance  ol 
-pint-  which  he  occa-ionally  niaiiife.-ted.  were  inevitably 
expended  on  her.  And  although  >hc  tried  to  lie  ,-e\  ere. 
and  often  pu-hed  him  from  her  with  the  harsh  remon- 


QUIET  DA  YS,  495 

strance,  "  Get  out  of  my  way,  you  teasin'  feller  ;  you 
pester  me  to  death  !  "  the  smiles  that  wrinkled  her  hard 
face,  and  now  and  then  the  ready  retort,  encouraged  the 
pestering,  teasing  fellow,  and  sharpened  his  wit  against 
the  keen  edge  of  her  own. 

But  these  occasions  were  exceptional.  Hannah  war, 
too  deaf,  as  well  as  too  old,  to  engage  frequently  in  con 
tests  of  wit  or  raillery,  and  otherwise  the  tone  of  the 
house  was  subdued  and  monotonous.  These,  as  I  have 
said,  were  quiet  days  in  the  Rawle  cottage.  It  was  well 
there  was  the  click  of  the  hammer,  the  grating  of  the 
mason's  trowel,  to  tell  of  spirit,  life,  and  progress.  But 
for  these  it  would  have  been  too  quiet,  too  monotonous, 
especially  during  the  stormy  days,  of  which  January  had 
more  than  its  usual  share  this  year. 


496  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

HAUNTED    IIEAKTS    EXORCISED    AND    BLEST. 

IT  was  on  one  of  these  stormy  mornings  that  George, 
who  had  yesterday  made  a  trip  to  the  city,  was  unpack 
ing  his  chest  in  the  kitchen,  sorting  out  his  sea-clothes 
and  distributing  his  gifts.  Angie's  reception  of  her 
sli are  of  the  latter  had  mortified  and  discouraged  him 
perhaps,  for,  without  coinpletiii'_r  tin-  task,  hi-  had  pushed 
the  chest  back  ;i_r;iin>t  tin-  wall,  and  gone  to  exhaust  his 
vexation  in  hammering  away  at  some  of  his  carpenter's 
work,  greatly  to  the  disgust  and  annoyance  of  Hannah, 
who,  having  seen  a  small  cockroach  escape  from  the 
chest  and  run  across  the  nicely  sanded  floor,  was  appre 
hensive  of  more  of  such  intruders,  and  was  impatient  to 
have  the  chest  emptied  and  transferred  to  the  wood- 

-hed. 

80,  at  lirr  entreaty,  tin-  ta>k  was  resumed  soon  after 
dinner.  The  wind  had  risen,  and  the  weather  «rrown 
intensely  cold,  compelling  all  the  household  to  keep  snug 
within  the  kitchen,  and  even  to  huddle  round  the  fire. 
George  was  in  the  mid.-t  »\'  them,  taking  advice,  chiclly 


HEARTS  EXORCISED  AND  BLEST.      497 

from  Hannah,  as  to  what  should  be  done  with  this  and 
that  article  as  he  drew  them  from  the  chest ;  whether 
this  would  ever  be  fit  for  wear  again  —  whether  that 
might  not  as  well  be  thrown  away.  At  last  he  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  chest,  and  sweeping  his  hand  from 
corner  to  corner  to  make  sure  that  it  was  quite  empty, 
encountered  some  object  which  he  had  not  expected  to 
find  then  and  there,  for  he  started,  exclaimed,  "  Whist ! 
I  had  forgotten  this  was  here  ; "  then,  half  reluctantly, 
brought  to  light  and  held  up  what  appeared  to  be  a 
soiled  and  crumpled  rag,  the  very  counterpart  to  just  such 
a  rag  which  had  been  similarly  held  up  and  displayed 
in  that  very  kitchen  once  before.  u  It's  been  a  greater 
traveller,  I  dare. say,  than  its  owner,"  continued  George, 
as  he  smoothed  out  and  restored  to  shape  a  knitted  mitten, 
ik  but  we  followed  a  different  course  and  compass.  The 
way  it's  come  back  into  my  possession  at  last  is  the 
greatest  mystery,  the  most  wonderful  coincidence  I  ever 
heard  of;"  and  as  he  spoke,  he  could  not  refrain  from 
casting  upon  Angie  a  curious,  not  to  say  suspicious, 


She  was  startled,  evidently,  and  was  gazing  at  this 
new  trophy  with  wonder  and  dismay ;  but  George's 
attention  was  instantly  distracted  from  her  face  by 
Hannah's  eager  cry,  "  The  mate  to  my  mitten,  I  vum  !  " 
and,  pouncing  upon  it  like  a  hawk,  the  excited  old  woman 
tried  to  snatch  it  from  his  hand. 

"  The  mate  to  mine,  begging  your  pardon,  aunt  Han 
nah,"  responded  George,  in  the  loud  key  \vhich  he  always 
42* 


498  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

u-i-d  iii  addn^sin'j  her.  and  :it  tin-  <ame  time,  with  play 
ful  hut  firm  defiance,  retaining  his  grasp  of  the  mitten. 

11  Y«.imi'r"  rri.-d  Ilannali,  incredulously,  "how  came 
it  yourn ?  " 

"  They're  both  mine,  the  pair  of 'em,"  replied  George, 
smiling  at  her  want  of  faith.  "If  you've  got  the  mate 
to  this,  ma'am"  (spoken  facetiously),  "I'll  thank  you 
for  it." 

"How  came  you  by  this,  I  say,  George?"  persisted 
Ilannali.  with  unmistakable  earnestness. 

••  Why.  it  was  mine  in  the  beginning,  —  always  mine," 
answered  George,  evasively.  "If  the  mate's  in  your 
possession,  aunt  Hannah,  it's  only  fair  you  should  account 
for  the  property,  and  restore  it  to  the  rightful  owner." 

"  Listen,  then,  George,"  said  Hannah,  with  a  solemnity 
which  at  once  awed  her  nephew,  and  with  that  stern, 
rigid  expression  which  her  face  always  assumed  when 
memory  led  her  back  to  the  circumstances  attending  her 
hu.-baud'-:  murder,  "I'll  tell  you  how  I  come  by  it,  an* 
why  I've  kept  it  so  long  an*  so  well.  I  tore  it  oil'  the 
hand  of  one  o'  them  villains  fliat  murdered  your  uncle 
Baultie.  I  struirirled  with  him  till  he  flung  me  outside  the 
IUMH6n  I  would  ha*  hung  on  to  him  and  strangled  him 
if  I  could:  hut  when  I  thought  I  had  him  l:i>t.  he  wri<_r- 
-le.l  like  a  sarpent  till  he  got  loose,  and  nothing  was  left 
in  my  clutches  but  the  mitten  he'd  >Ii|»prd  his  hand 
out  on." 

"What!  Bullei  :  "  cried  QtOTge,  Inpjeltin-j  ihe  cau 
tion  he  had  hitherto  ]>n-«i\..l  «>n  An;_:i< •'-  account. 


HEARTS   EXORCISED    AND    BLEST.  499 

"  Then  your  story  just  fays  into  mine,  aunt  Hannah, 
for  it  was  among  his  traps,  in  the  till  of  his  private  chest, 
that  I  found  a  heap  of  gold  and  silver  coins  stowed  away  ill 
this  very  mitten.  It  never  occurred  to  me  till  this  minute," 
he  continued,  in  eager  soliloquy,  "  but  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  among  that  specie  we  could  identify  some  of  uncle 
Baultie's  old  guineas  or  Spanish  dollars.  I  handed  the 
cash  over  to  government  with  the  rest  of  the  spoils. 
They  had  'em  there  in  court,  but  I  never  thought  of  that 
chance.  Strange,  now,  if  it  should  turn  out  so  ;  it's 
worth  looking  into.  How  it  would  corroborate  Bly  !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  George,"  demanded  Hannah, 
with  that  precise,  emphatic  enunciation  which  indicated 
the  intense  difficulty  her  mind  had  in  crediting  this  new 
revelation,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  that  that  'ere  mitten  is 
yourn,  and  that  you  never  laid  eyes  on  it  from  the  time 
you  went  to  sea  till  it  turned  up  in  the  way  you  tell 
on?" 

"  I  mean  just  that,  aunt  Hannah.  That  man,  Bul 
let " 

"  That  devil,"  interposed  Hannah,  under  her  breath. 

"Had  'em  both,"  continued  George;  "wore 'em,  no 
doubt.  They  were  a  decent  pair  of  mittens  once.  I  was 
proud  of  'em,  I  know.  Pie  lost  one,  it  seems,  the  one 
you've  got,  and  this,  being  good  for  nothing  else,  he  used 
for  a  money  bag.  How  he  came  by  them  in  the  first'  place, 
Heaven  only  knows,  I'm  sure  I  don't ; "  and  here  George 
st^le  a  side  glance  at  Angie,  which  might  have  been  inter 
preted  to  mean,  It's  just  possible  you  do.  "  Any  how, 


500  HAUNTED    H  EARTS. 

as  it  was  mine.  I  ventured  to  take  possession  of  it  as  a 
curi»>-iiy  ;"  and  George  Uinied  it  over  and  scrutini/.ed  it 
close IN . 

Margery  trembled.  Angle,  as  she  stood  watching  him. 
felt  as  if  he  were  dissecting  her  conscience,  and  turn  in;: 
her  heart  inside  out. 

"You're  sure  it's  yourn?"  reiterated  Hannah. 

"Sun-?  yes,  indeed.  Would  have  sworn  to  it  any 
where." 

"  Geordie!"  cried  Hannah,  witlu  a  sudden  hurst  of 
emotion,  and  staggering,  hack  to  her  chair  she  hraccd 
herself  against  its  arms  as  if  her  strength  were  forsaking 
her.  and  .-he  felt  tlie  need  of  some  -upport, —  "  Geordie, 
you  send  a  cold  shudder  through  me  when  you  rail  them 
mittens  youru.  Day  an'  niirht,  day  an'  night,  for  tin- 
last  five  vear.  I'\e  eallc'l  the  deejieM  CUrtai  do\\n  on  tin- 
man  that  them  'ere  belonged  ter.  whoever  in  the  w..rld 
lie  might  he.  I've  pray«-«l  that  the  sun  might  scorch  him, 
an'  the  cold  send  a  >hi\n-  through  his  bones;  that  hun 
ger  might  gnaw  him,  an'  his  tongue  be  parched  for  a 
drop  o*  water ;  that  he  might  cry  out  to  cruel  men  to 
help  him,  an'  that  they  might  be  deaf  to  his  prayers. 

iie.  when    I    think  of  all   you've   suffered  by  » 
laud,  it  almost  seems  as  if  the  Lord   ju-t  took  me  at  my 
word?" 

"The  Lord's  too  jnst  for  that,  aunt    Hannah."    an- 

S\\ered  (Irorue.  "  He  would  never  ha\e  made  Die  the 
victim  of  rursc-j  that  I  didn't  de-erve.  and  that  were  Jiot 
m--aiit  for  me.  You  needn't  trouble  yourself  about 

that." 


HEARTS    EXORCISED   AND   BLEST.  501 

George  spoke  in  a  soothing,  persuasive  tone  ;  but  he 
was  none  the  less  shocked  at  Hannah's  acknowledgment 
of  the  terrible  spirit  of  hatred  and  revenge  that  had 
rankled  in  her  heart.  There  was  no  need  for  him  or 
any  one  to  reproach  he*1  with  it,  however.  Self-reproach 
was  working  within  her  rapidly  enough. 

"  You're  right,  George ;  the  Lord  makes  no  mis 
takes,"  replied  Hannah,  in  the  tone  of  one  communing 
with  her  own  thoughts ;  "  but,  O,  what  mischief  we 
make  in  our  ignorance !  How  we  tempt  his  provi 
dence  !  We'd  better  set  still  an'  wait  fur  him  ;  he  comes 
in  his  own  good  time,  an'  brings  with  him  justice  an' 
judgment.  It's  well  he  kept  me  in  the  dark,  wholly  in 
the  dark.  I'm  thinkin',  George,"  —  and,  as  this  gleam 
of  thought  broke  upon  her,  she  leaned  forward  in  her 
chair,  shuddered,  and  laid  her  hand  impressively  on  her 
nephew's  shoulder,  —  "  I'm  thinkin'  how  many  times  I've 
looked  at  that  leetle  bit  o'  proof,  an'  felt  as  if  all  I  needed 
in  this  world  was  to  know  the  name  of  its  owner,  an'  so 
bring  him  to  the  gallers ; "  and,  rising  as  she  spoke, 
moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  started  towards  the  bed 
room  to  bring  forth  her  treasure  from  its  hiding-place. 

"  But  you  might  have  known,"  called  George  just  as 
Hannah  was  retreating  from  the  room  ;  "  you  must  have 
been  blind  not  to  see " 

A  sudden  "O,  hush-sh-sh  !  "  in  a  terrified  but  half-sup- 
p'-essed  voice,  at  the  same  time  a  hand  placed  over  his 
mouth,  another  grasping  at  and  endeavoring  to  cover 
and  hide  the  fatal  initials  marked  with  red  on  which  his 


502  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

finger  \\a-  K  -ting  emphatically,  —  these  were  enough  to 
arrest  his  words  and  cause  him  to  look  up  inquiringly 
in  the  face  of  Angie,  who,  as  he  knelt  beside  the-  cheM, 
was  bending  over  him,  her  attitude,  her  voice,  her 
count*  nance  imploring  him  to  rofrain. 

-Why  hush!"  he  ejaculated,  alarmed  by  her  im 
petuosity  and  puzzled  at  her  warning. 

"O,  because,  because — she  "  —  pointing  towards  Han 
nah  ;  "  she  doesn't  susp —  She  never  knew " 

••  Knew  what?"    cried  George. 

"  O,  nothing  ;  no  matter,  —  only,  —  the  letters  ;  don't 
show  her,  —  there,  she's  coming !  "  and  her  brief  and 
imperfect  expostulation  interrupted  by  Hannah's  return, 
Angie  retreated  abruptly  and  resumed  her  former  place 
and  attitude. 

"Just  alike!  a  complete  pair!"  was  George's  com 
ment,  as,  claiming  Hannah's  mitten  (he  took  care  not  to 
relinquish  his  own),  he  laid  the  two  together,  the  red 
letters  (scarcely  red  now,  time  had  faded  them  M> 
much)  adroitly  turned  inwards  and  concealed.  lie  had 
understood  enough  of  Angie's  expostulation  for  that. 

Hannah,  who,  thanks  to  her  deafness  and  her  self- 
absorbed  state  of  mind,  had  heard  and  suspected  noth 
ing  of  the  dialogue  and  pantomime  which  had  taken 
place  while  her  bark  was  turned,  looked  on  through  her 
spectacles.  "  That's  a  fact,  —  not  a  doubt  on't !  "  was 
her  confirmatory  verdict  ;  then  >he  -i  ret  died  out  her 
hand  to  take  tin-  mittens  and  compare  them  herself. 

George  held  them  iij)  before  her,  drew  out  the  thumbs, 


HEARTS   EXORCISED   AND   BLEST.  503 

displayed  the  exact  measurements.  But  that  would  not 
suffice.  She  must  handle  them  herself.  Reluctantly 
submitting  to  necessity,  George  yielded  them.  She 
smoothed  them  out  slowly,  meditatively.  She  even  ex 
amined  the  width  of  the  seaming  at  the  wrist ;  "  two  an' 
three,"  she  muttered,  counting  the  ribbed  stitches  of 
one ;  "  two  an'  three,"  as  turning  the  pair  over,  she 
examined  the  opposite  wrist.  Then  she  handed  them 
back  to  George,  and  he,  for  safe  keeping,  hastily  put  them 
in  his  pocket.  She  had  satisfied  herself  completely,  but 
she  had  not  separated  them  —  had  not  (  detected  the 
letters. 

The  accident  of  her  doing  so,  or  failing  to  do  so,  made 
all  the  difference  of  her  mastering  the  secret  which  had 
for  five  years  moulded  the  lives  of  Margery  and  Angie, 
or  of  her  going  down  to  her  grave  in  total  ignorance 
of  it.  Chance,  —  shall  we  not  say  Providence  ?  —  deter 
mined  the  matter ;  for,  had  the  case  been  reversed,  I 
am  afraid  that  in  spite  of  all  the  lessons  of  forbearance 
which  Providence  was  teaching  her,  she  could  never  from 
that  time  to  the  day  of  her  death  have  forborne  occasion 
ally  twitting  the  other  two  with  their  injustice  to  George. 
"  Women,"  if  it  is  fair  to  quote  from  so  prejudiced 
an  old  bachelor  as  Van  Hausen,  "  do  peck  at  one 
another  so." 

To  what  extent  her  own  suspicions  of  her  nephew 
might,  under  like  circumstances,  have  been  carried,  it  is 
impossible  to  say.  Now  that  light  had  been  thrown 
upon  the  whole  transaction,  she  doubtless  acquitted 


504  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 


any  such  fallibility,  as  human  nature,  untested 
by  temptation,  generally  does  acquit  itself.  This  was 
evident  from  tlu>  tenor  of  what  followed. 

"That's  right,  put  it  out  <>'  my  Mirht  foiwermore," 
she  said,  as  she  watched  her  rhcri.-hed  bit  of  proof  disap 
pear  withiu  the  depths  of  (ieorge's  pocket.  "It's  been 
fuel  to  my  wrath  long  enough.  It's  lucky  I  kept  it  so 
snug  an'  miser-like.  I  never  should  ha'  found  out  it  was 
yourn,  Geordie,  but  other  folks  might  have  :  an'  who 
knows  what  it  might  ha'  led  irrr  Next  thing,  like  'a  not, 
people  'ud  ha'  been  mi>tru>;in'  you  coveted  your  uncle 
Baultie's  gold,  an'  had  a  hand  in  killiu'  him,  that  the 
inheritance  might  be  yourii.  /  never  would  ha'  i  in 
trusted  yer,  my  boy,  not  /,"  she  added,  hastily.  "  You 
needn't  think  that  (there  must  have  been  something  in 
George's  face  that  prompted  her  to  this  assurance)  ;  but 
seeing  you  was  missiu'  so  soon  artrrwards,  there  are  peo 
ple  in  this  world  who'd  ha'  been  wicked  enough  to  think 
yer  did  it,  if  they  hadn't  accused  yer  on't  outright.  But 
1  thank  God,"  she  added,  fervently,  "that  shortened  the 
hand  of  a  foolish  old  woman,  and  took  the  cause  o'  justice 
into  his  own.  We  miserable  critturs  do  a  deal  of  evil 
an'  mischief  in  our  lives;  but  we  little  know  how  much 
\\e're  saved  from  doin*  by  a  power  stronger  than  our  «»\\n 
will.  Krom  this  day  forth,  an'  fur  the  >ak«-  o'  this  great 
delhcranre,  I'll  never  try  ajain  to  right  my  own  w; 
4  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord.'  " 

With    which    solemn    ejaculation,    uttered    with    hands 
clasped  and  eyes   upraised,  Hannah  turned  and  left    the 


HEARTS  EXORCISED  AND  BLEST.     505 


t 


room,  perhaps  to  hide  the  emotions  which  made  her 
knees  knock  together,  possibly  to  sink  upon  those  knees 
in  the  privacy  of  the  little  bed-room,  and  confirm  her 
grand  resolution  in  prayer  to  God ;  for  Hannah,  though 
a  stern  and  an  erring,  was  none  the  less  a  devout,  reli 
gionist. 

And  those  wicked  people  to  whom  she  had  made  such 
cutting,  though  accidental  allusion  !  There  were  but  two 
in  the  world  ;  two  vile  creatures,  to  whose  consciences  her 
reproach  struck  home,  and  there  they  stood  condemned. 

Yes,  there  was  no  escape  for  them. 

"  She  never  knew  —  she  never  suspected  !  "  exclaimed 
George,  starting  impetuously  to  his  feet  the  moment  the 
door  had  closed  upon  Hannah  ;  "  but  you,  mother?  you, 
Angie  ?  you  suspected  ?  you  believed  !  —  Good  Heaven  ! 
that's  too  much  !  that  can't  be  !  " 

Margery's  hands,  those  eloquent  hands,  were  raised  in 
supplication,  her  shadowy  form  bent  back,  almost  crouch 
ing,  as  if  she  were  striving  to  ward  off  a  dreaded  blow. 
Angle's  breast  heaved,  her  face  was  turned  away. 

"  It  is  though  !  it  is  !  You  did  me  that  terrible  wrong, 
both  of  you.  I  see  it !  "  he  cried,  seizing  Margery's 
culprit  hands,  at  the  same  time  forcibly  turning  Angle's 
face  towards  him,  and  as  he  thus  held  both  at  arm's 
length,  compelling  them  to  meet  the  gaze  which  shot 
rapidly  from  one  to  the  other. 

Then  he  groaned,  for  there  was  no  denial  in  either 
countenance,  and  he  knew  all. 

"  Tell  me  !  "  he  now  exclaimed,  and  with  fresh  vehe- 
43 


506  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

• 

menee,     *'  I  must  know  the  truth.     Tell  me,  did  you  bc- 
li.>\r  mo  a  murderer, —  ray  uncle's  murderer?" 

Margery  only  eehoed  his  own  groan.  "  Don't  ask  me, 
Geordie,"  was  tin-  a;_;oni/ed  ejaculation  of  Angie. 

••  Your  o,\  n  son!"  to  Ms  mother.  "The  man  who  had 
lo\t'd  you  BO]  H  to  AM-ie.  "  It  wa-  too  bad,  l»y  Heaven  ! 
it  was  too  bad  !  " 

"  It  was."  murmured  Angie.      "  It  was." 

••  <  Jeordie."  faltered  Margery,  "  I  never  owned  it;  I 
never  breathed  it,  not  even  to  myself,  not  even  to  God  in 
my  prayers." 

"  Nor  I,"  sobbed  Angie  ;  "  nor  I." 

44  But  you  believed  it,"  he  cried  with  bitterness  ;  44  you 
believed  me  an  unnatural,  cruel,  blood-thirsty  villain. 
My  last  prayer  to  both  of  you  when  I  went  away  was,  to 
think  the  best  of  me  whatc\or  happened,  and  you  have 
thought  the  worst.  I'd  better  never  have  come  back. 
I'd  better  have  wasted  a,way  in  slavery,  or  been  buried  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  than  to  have  lived  to  learn  this. 
O  mother!  O  Angie!" — and  releasing  them  both  from 
his  L'rasp  so  suddenly  that  they  staggered,  so  indignantly 
that  the  act  seemed  to  imply  that  he  had  done  with  them 
t'"iwer,  ho  caught  his  cap  from  the  table  and  dashed  out 
of  the  house. 

His   usually    ruddy    face    was    white    with    auger   or 
wounded    feeling,   probably  a    mingling   of    both  ;    they 
knew  that  the  bitter  reproaches  he  had  uttered  were  but 
a  faint  indication  of  the  storm  of  emotion  that  was 
ing  within  him  ;  that  his  tender,  loving  nature  was  wounded 


HEARTS   EXORCISED   AND  BLEST.  507 

to  its  innermost  depths,  —  such  depths  as  only  exist  in 
hearts  so  trusting  and  affectionate  as  his,  and  that  he  had 
rushed  from  their  presence  simply  as  a  precaution  against 
the  further  explosion  that  threatened. 

It  is  not  much  to  see  a  man  who  is  habitually  ill-tem 
pered,  violent,  or  pugnacious,  irritated  and  touched  to  the 
quick.  One  may  even  become  so  familiar  with  his  exhi 
bitions  of  passion  and  wrath  as  to  view  them  only  with 
indifference  or  contempt.  But  let  the  peaceable,  the  con 
fiding,  the  manly  soul  be  roused  to  indignation  or  moved 
to  anguish  by  a  deep  sense  of  injustice  or  injury,  and 
whose  heart  is  not  sympathetically  stirred?  Who,  hav 
ing  wronged  such  a  one  does  not  feel  how  irreparable  is 
the  injury  done,  how  hopeless  the  attempt  to  heal  a 
wound  so  deep? 

Such  was  the  sympathy,  such  the  hopelessness  with 
which  the  thoughts  of  Margery  and  Angie  followed  George 
in  his  flight.  They  did  not  exchange  a  word.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  They  did  not  even  exchange 
glances.  They  shrank  from  the  conviction  written  in 
each  other's  faces.  There  was  no  longer  any  secret  be 
tween  them,  any  counsel  to  take,  any  thing  to  be  done. 

Except  to  wait,  wait  and  see  what  came  of  it.  How 
long  the  hours  seemed !  for  hours  passed  on  and  he  did 
not  return.  As  twilight  and  night  came  on,  shadowy  and 
bitter  cold,  what  shadows  of  suspense,  what  cold  shud 
ders  of  dread  haunted  their  aching  hearts !  Will  he 
come  back  at  all  ?  Will  he  speak  to  us  ?  Will  he  for 
give  us?  Will  he  ever  love  us  after  this?  Such  were 


508  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

the  hard  questions  which  kept  up  a  continual  knocking  at 
the  door  of  these  haunted  hearts,  and  a  desponding  voice 
within  was  constantly  answering,  —  Never. 

Hannah's  ignorance  of  what  had  transpired  was  cer 
tainly  a  subject  for  Lrratitude.  She  wondeivd  when  phe 
returned  to  the  kitchen  what  had  become  of  George  ;  and 
when  they  told  her  that  he  had  taken  his  cap  and  gone  out,x 
she  wondered  that  he  should  go  out  such  a  cold  afternoon. 
She  wondered  still  more  that  he  had  left  his  sca-cheM 
there  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  in  spite  of  all  the  fears 
she  had  expressed  about  the  cockroaches.  And  after  .-!n: 
had  exhausted  herself  with  wondering  that  he  did  not 
come  home  to  tea,  that  he  should  be  so  fond  of  gadding, 
and  so  indifferent  to  fireside  joys  (Hannah,  be  it  here  re 
marked,  was  always  jealous  of  his  leaving  the  house  for 
an  hour),  she  still  further  evidenced  her  discontent  by 
going  to  bed  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  muttering  as  she 
went,  "  If  he  chooses  to  stay  out  until  ten  o'clock  at 
night"  (it  was  only  a  quarter  to  nine),  "  he  can't  expect 
folks  as  old  as  I  am  to  set  up  fur  him." 

lie  did  not  expect  nor  wish  it.  Not  long  after  nine,  the 
hour  when  he  knew  she  invariably  retired,  his  hand  wa- 
<»u  the  door-latch  ;  and  as  he  lifted  it,  the  hearts  of  M. 
•_r< TV  and  An;_:ie,  who  sat  watching  and  waiting  by  the 
lire-ide,  leaped  up  also,  and  inst'mrtivrlv,  moved  by  a 
common  impulse,  they  rose  to  meet  him.  a-  it'  he  had  rc- 
turned  after  weeks  of  absence. 

\    ;  ran  in  T  would  have  thought  he  had  —  for  he  walked 
straight   up  to  his  mother  and  embraced    her  tenderly; 


HEARTS  EXORCISED   AND    BLEST.  509 

then  drew  Angle  towards  him,  lifted  her  face  gently, 
solemnly,  just  as  he  did  when  he  parted  from  her  so 
many  years  ago,  and  kissed  her  in  the  same  spot  on  her 
forehead.  Then  the  young  girl  knew  she  was  forgiven  ; 
and  the  old  woman,  clinging  to  her  son,  felt  that  she 
was  blest. 

With  what  generous  protective  love  he  now  gazed  from 
one  to  the  other,  his  left  arm  twined  round  and  support 
ing  his  mother,  his  right  hand  clasping  one  of  Angie's  ! 
What  a  different  expression  his  face  wore  from  that 
which  had  distorted  and  clouded  it  a  few  hours  .ago  ! 
How  serene  he  was  !  What  a  depth  of  tenderness  was 
reflected  in  his  mild  blue  eyes  !  What  a  victory  he  had 
won  over  himself! 

Yes,  won  over  and  for  himself,  God  helping.  There 
are  some  natures  in  the  world  that,  like  the  cloudy  sky 
the  storm-lashed  ocean,  have  a  power  and  depth  by  means 
of  which  their  atmosphere  is  cleared,  their  serenity  re 
gained,  without  foreign  aid,  through  their  own  inherent 
forces.  George's  was  one  of  those  great  souls  that 
needed  only  to  be  left  to  itself  a  while.  No  earthly  power 
had  helped  him, — he  had  simply  come  to  his  better  self; 
and  when  he  spoke,  when  he  called  them  both  by  name, 
there  was  a  touching  melody  and  pathos  in  his  deep, 
earnest  tones.  "Dear  mother,  dear  Angie,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  come  back  to  tell  you  that  I've  got  over  it.  It 
was  a  great  shock,  but  I've  been  thinking  about  it.  I 
understand  it  better  now  ;  you  mustn't  mind  my  feeling  it 
so  much  at  first.  I  couldn't  help  it,  you  know.  But 
43* 


510  ft  i  US  i  'i'i>   H  i-:  i  it  i 

it's  all  right  now  ;  we'll  never  speak  of  it,  we'll  never 
think  of  it  again  \  " 

He  would  have  heen  content  to  let  the  matter  rest  her.- 
—  hut  not  they:  they  were  fur  from  content.  With  one 
voice  they  hoth  cried,  O  George,  can  you  forgive  u- ? 
are  you  sure  yon  can.  ami  will?" 

••  Mother,  An-jie,"  he  resinned,  in  reply,  "when  God's 
hand  was  heavy  UJMUI  me.  when  I  saw  in  each  day's  star 
vation,  and  mi-ery,  and  chains  a  just  punishment  for  my 
\\a-ted  youth,  my  ingratitude,  my  hard,  revengeful  heart, 
I  vowed  again  and  again  to  pardon  my  fellow-creatures 
every  injury,  known  or  unknown,  a-  I  hoped  and  prayed 
(iod  would  r-ome  day  have  pity  on  and  pardon  me.  He 
has  mercifully  heard  my  prayer  —  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
.-hould  defraud  him  or  wrong  my  own  .-onl  by  taking  back 
the  vow  !  " 

Awed  by  the  solemnity  of  his  voice  and  words,  his 
hearers  trembled  and  remained  silent. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  earnestly  continued,  "that  when 
toiling  under  an  African  sun  I  pined  for  one  breath  of 
.It  EMJ  air,  when  then-  was  no  heaven  to  my  mind  like 
the  heaven  of  home,  when  I  would  gladly  have  died  if  I 
could  but  take  my  mother's  hand  in  mine  (and  Impressed 
the  withered  hand),  or  have  one  more  look  at  the  :  i 
lo\,-d  ]>•-!  in  the  win-Id  (.i:id  he  'j:i/ed  fondly  into  AngieV 
eyes),  do  you  think  then  I  asked  mr>elf — what  or  ho\v 
i.mch  /  \va>  i"  No!  the  less  the  better,  for  your 

;  1  oulv  knew.  I  onlv  felt,  that  you  were  life,  happi- 
>  verv  thiiiLr  to  ?nc." 


HEARTS     EXORCISED    AND    BLEST.          511 

"And  now,"  he  exclaimed  with  fresh  fervor,  the  sobs 
of  the  two  women  alone  interrupting  him, — "  now  that  I 
am  a  free  man,  and  at  home  once  more,  with  you  in  my 
arms,  mother,  with  you,  Angie,  by  my  side,  do  you  think 
I  can  have  it  in  my  heart  to  reproach  you  because,  when 
I  gave  you  reason  to  believe  nothing  but  evil  of  me,  you 
laid  more  guilt  to  my  door  than  I  really  deserved  ?  What 
had  I  ever  been  or  done  that  should  save  me  from  the 
suspicion  or  disgrace  that  must  light  on  somebody's 
head?  Nothing  ;  it  was  all  the  other  way.  I  had  been 
a  good-for-nothing  scapegrace,  to  say  the  least.  But  let 
bygones  be  bygones  ;  and,  please  God,  for  the  rest  of 
my  days  I'll  be  so  much  better  son  to  you,  mother, 
(and  he  gave  her  a  filial  hug),  so  much  worthier  friend 
to  you,  if  you'll  let  me,  Angie  (and  he  laid  his  hand  pro- 
tectingly,  beseechingly,  on  her  head),  that  if  fate  parts  us 
again  I'll  leave  behind  me  no  dark  memories  to  poison 
your  faith  in  me  and  blacken  my  good  name." 

They  tried,  amid  their  sobs,  to  protest  against  this 
humility  of  his,  to  contradict  -his  self-aspersions,  but  it 
was  of  no  use.  As  usual,  his  generous  nature  had 
taught  him  to  look  away  from  the  wrong  he  had  suffered 
and  remember  only  the  wrong  he  had  done,  and,  that  he 
might  forgive  them  with  a  better  grace,  he  persisted  in 
taking  all  the  blame  on  his  own  shoulders,  —  those  broad 
shoulders  of  his  that  were  always  ready  to  bear  every 
body's  burdens. 

And  when  they  reiterated  their  assurances  that  they 
would  have  trusted  him,  that  they  had  trusted  him,  more 


512  HA  U y  TKD    H EA  R  T .V . 

entirely  than  any  oilier  man  living :  that  nothing  but 
the  evidence  of  their  own  H-M-I-S  had  deceived 
them,  he  interrupted  them  with,  "I  know  —  I  know  — 
the  evidence  was  damning, —  nobody  can  deny  that: 

—  my   raire   airainst    iinele    Banltie,   my   desperation    and 
threats  of  vengeance,  my  skulking  off  as  I  did  at  dead  «.f 
night,  and  that  mitten   of  your  own  knitting,  mother, — 
with  inv  initials  on  it.  that  you  marked  yourself.  Angle  !  " 
then,  in  a  tone  of   eager  eurio-ity.   lie   ;idded,  abruptly, 
"  Who  ripped  out  the  mark  ''.  " 

"  I,"  answered  Augie,  penitently,  mortitied  as  she  thus 
acknowledged  the  suspicion  \\hieh  that  act  implied.  —  "I," 

—  that  first  night  when  she  was  asleep. 

"I  thought  so.  Bless  you,  Angie  ;  whatever  your  ow^n 
suspicions  were,  you  saved  me  from  public  degradation 
and  shame.  Aunt  Hannah  may  say  what  .-he  will  now, 
but  with  such  e\  idence  against  me,  and  her  wrath  to 
baek  it,  I  shouldn't  have  stood  much  chance;  she'd  have 
blasted  my  good  name  forever.  And  her  curses  on  tin- 
owner  of  her  bit  of  proof, — you  were  continually  hear 
ing  them  and  tremhliug!  Good  Heavens!  you  must 
have  been  glad  when  you  learned  that  1  was  in  my 
grave  —  a  Judas's  grave,  though  it  was!" 

They  did  not  deny  it,  —  they  assented  to  it,  if  silence 
could  be  so  interpreted. 

"And  when  I  came  hack  so  unexpectedly,  when  you  saw 
me  in  the  court-house,  when  Bly  stood  up  to  testily,  did 
yon  think  then — ?  Of  c.-ur-e  you  must  have  \  You  did  ! 
both  of  you.  Your  panic  of  fear,  mother,  when  you 


HEARTS   EXORCISED   AND    BLEST.  513 

rushed  into  my  arms  !  Your  cry  of  terror.  Angle,"  he 
exclaimed,  as  one  recollection  after  another  flashed  upon 
him.  "  Did  you  think  that  fatal  finger  of  his  was  pointed 
at  me?" 

u  How  could  I  help  it?  "  moaned  Margery,  "  how  could 
I  help  it,  Geordie,  when  my  burstin'  heart  was  prntin' 
the  same  way  in  spite  o'  me  ?  " 

"  He  had  promised  me,"  cried  Angie,  "  and  I  believed 
him.  I  told  him  you  were  dead,  and  he  promised  —  you 
were  alive  again,  and  I  thought  it  was  all  over  with  you. 
I  didn't  know  what  I  did,  I  was  mad  with  horror  and  fear  ! " 

"  He  promised  !  —  what,  Ely?  it  was  you,  then,  that 
deceived  him,  being  yourself  deceived.  I  thought  it  was 
Polly,  poor  Polly  Stein  ;  every  body  thought  so." 

"  No,  it  was  not  Polly.  She  was  in  the  court  that  day  ; 
I  saw  her  there  myself ;  but  she  was  not  in  the  prison  ; 
she  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was  I  that  planned 
all  that  mischief.  Providence  overruled  my  folly  and 
blindness,  but  God  knows  I  did  it  for  the  best." 

"Brave  girl!  of  course  you  did  it  for  the  best.  I 
should  be  the  last  man  to  question  that.  You  did  it  for 
the  salvation  of  my  good  name.  You  tried  to  silence 
him  for  my  sake.  Tell  me  about  it  —  tell  me  all." 

She  told  him  as  well  as  she  could,  in  broken  phrases 
and  with  a  stammering  tongue,  he  and  Margery  mute  with 
wonder  at  her  courage  and  the  ready  tact  with  which  she 
had  improved  her  opportunity.  It  was  reserved  for  Ely 
when  he  should  know  the  whole  (and  in  justice  to  him, 
he  was  made  at  last  to  understand  how  unintentional  was 


.Ml  HA  IX  TED    HEARTS. 

tlu-  deception  tliat  hail  IK-CM  practi-ed  ujx»n  him),  to  dwell 
with  rude  eloquence  upon  the  love  aud  devotion  with 
which  >hc  had  plead  her  rause  :  a  love  and  devotion  which 
the  poor  outca.-t  depicted  in  the  more  Blowing  colors 
l>ecau>e  to  him  they  \\ere  things  new  and  strange.  But 
lor  the  present  the  simple  fact  of  the  effort  she  had  made 
in  his  In  halt'  was  enough  for  George,  —  was  more  than 
he  could  at  once  credit  or  comprehend. 

"Good  God!"  he  devoutly  ejaculated,  when  she  had 
fmi>hcd,  "  what  things  this  dear  girl  has  done,  and  dared, 
ami  Miliered  tor  my  sake  !  My  share  has  been  nothing 
to  it.  And  yet  you  talk  of  forgiveness,"  he  added,  in  a 
chiding  tone,  to  his  hearers,  "  as  if  I  had  any  thing  to 
forgive;  I,  whom  it  becomes  rather  to  think  of  thanks, 
not  for  all  you  have  done  and  tried  to  do  to  >avc  and  pro 
tect  my  good  name  (though  I  owe  you  much  for  that), 
but  for  the  love  that  outlived  all,  —  that's  what  touches  me, 
mother,  —  that's  what  I  find  it  hard  to  l»elie\e  iu,Angie," 
—  and  his  voice  was  stifled  and  broken  with  emotion. 

44  And  your  cry,  Angie,  that  terrible  cry  in  the  court 
room,"  he  continued,  with  difficulty  mastering  hi-  agita 
tion,  and  only  by  a  great  effort  bringing  his  mind  to  a 
ivali/ation  of  the  truth  that  was  dawning  upon  him  ;  "  it 
was  not  for  him.  then,  alter  all?" 

44  For  liint  .'  For  whom?"  asked  Aniric,  in  surpri-.  . 
and  looking  inquiringly  into  George'-  lace. 

44  For  Josselyn  —  Bullet,  I  mean.      I  —  I  thought  "  — 

44  O  George  !"  was  tin;  reproachful  exclamation  with 
which  .-he  interrupted  and  relieved  his  hesitation,  44  did 


HEARTS    EXORCISED   AND    BLEST.  515 

you  suppose  I  could  ever  care  for  such  a  wretch  after 
that  night?" 

"  What  night,  Angie?  " 

"  The  night  that  you  bade  me  goodby,  George, — the 
night  that  was  the  beginning  of  our  five  years'  misery." 

"  I  feared  —  I  mistrusted  —  O,  what  shall  I  say?  In 
a  word,  then,  I  wTas  blind  —  I  was  a  fool,  Angie  —  but  I 
see  !  —  I  see  now  !  "  (her  blushes  and  tears  at  this  mo 
ment  were  greater  telltales  than  her  tongue),  "  and  for 
the  future  I  will  be  a  wiser,  and  you  may  believe  me,  a 
happier  man.  Dearest  mother,  dearest  Angie,  if  your 
hearts  have  been  so  true  to  a  poor  fellow  in  spite  of  the 
crimes  of  which  you  have  believed  him  guilty,  I  am  sure 
you  will  not  love  him  less  now  that  his  innocence  is 
proved.  O,  such  love  pays  for  all !  Only  forget  the 
past,  mother,  just  as  if  it  had  never  been  ;  only  keep  on 
loving  me,  darling  girl  (he  had  drawn  the  darling  girl 
so  close  to  him  that  he  whispered  this  last  petition  in 
her  ear),  and  I  for  one  shall  not  think  all  I  have  suffered, 
and  ten  times  more,  if  need  be,  too  great  a  price  to  pay 
for  so  much  happiness." 

And  releasing  them  both  from  the  embrace  in  which 
he  had  clasped  them  as  he  spoke,  he  turned  hastily  away 
to  hide  the  not  unmanly  tears  which  he  could  no  longer 
restrain. 

Margery  drew  a  long  sigh  —  one  of  those  sighs  of 
relief,  so  familiar  to  her  acquaintances  of  former  days, 
but  latterly  never  indulged  in  —  a  deep  expressive  sigh, 
on  whose  breath  the  accumulated  burden  of  years  seemed 
to  be  exhaled  and  dissipated. 


516  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

"  What  shall  I  render  unto  the  Lord  for  all  his  benefits 

toward-  me?"  she  fervently  exclaimed.  Then,  for  the 
first  time  in  many  years,  assuming  tlie  prerogative  which 
became  her  as  head  of  the  hoiiM-hold,  and  in>tineti\elv 
fulfilling  to  the  letter  the  pious  custom  of  her  husband,  — 
>ince  his  death  fallen  into  disuse,  —  she  said,  authori 
tatively,  "  Let  us  consult  God's  holy  word.  My  son, 
read  the  one  hundred  and  sixteenth  psalm." 

George  reverently  took  the  old  family  Bible  from  its 
shelf  and  obeyed  her. 

Then  the  old  woman  fell  on  her  knees  —  those  1 
thai  never  again  were  to  tremble  with  apprehension  of 
human  wrath,  and  folded  together  in  peace  those  hands 
no  longer  the  index  to  a  troubled  soul.  Then  the  tongue 
that  for  years  had  cleaved  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth,  was 
loosed,  the  voice  that  horror  and  dread  had  well  nigh 
palsied  broke  forth  mellow  and  clear,  the  gift  that  had 
once  made  Margery  Rawle  the  leader  of  church  and 
prayer-meeting  descended  mightily  upon  her,  and  George, 
and  Angie,  feeling  their  souls  taught  of  the  Spirit,  fol 
lowed  where  she  led  the  way,  and  united  in  the  offering 
of  praise  and  thanksgiving  which  her  inspired  tongue 
laid  on  the  altar  of  the  Most  Hijrh. 

And  thus  these  hearts,  haunted  so  long  by  painful 
memories  and  mighty  dread,  mercifully  ivlea>ed  at  la-t, 
exorcised,  purified,  ble>t.  wnv  rendered  imt<>  IIea\en 
voluntary  <aeriliees,  ron-i-rrated  Drifts, —  the  «>nlv  aeeept- 
al.le  -aerilie.'-.  ihc  only  worthy  «_rilt>.  wliieh  Humanity  can 
render  unto  God  for  all  his  benefits. 


THE   DARK   SIDE   OF   THE    PICTURE.  517 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE    DARK    SIDE    OF    THE    PICTURE. 

No  formal  and  connected  narrative  of  the  circum 
stances  attending  the  death  of  Baultie  Rawle  was  ever 
extracted  from  Nicholas  Ely,  nor  were  charges  against 
any  parties  preferred  by  him  of  sufficient  coherency  and 
weight  to  warrant  the  interference  of  government  or  the 
apprehension  of  suspected  individuals.  Such  hints  and 
explanations  as  dropped  from  the  wretched  man  were 
chiefly  in  the  form  of  spontaneous  confessions  and  invol 
untary  acknowledgments  made  to  George,  who,  after 
allowing  him  a  few  weeks  in  which  to  recuperate  the 
strength  expended  on  the  day  of  the  trial,  visited  him 
frequently  in  his  cell,  aided  in  the  fulfilment  of  the 
promises  held  out  to  him  as  a  motive  for  confession  by 
ministering  to  his  necessities,  and  inspired  him  with  a 
degree  of  confidence  which  the  jailer  and  the  prison 
chaplain  had  failed  to  awaken.  Disjointed  and  frag 
mentary  as  these  hints  were,  enough  could  easily  be 
gathered  or  conjectured  from  them  to  throw  light  upon 
whatever  mysteries  connected  with  this  foul  transaction 
still  remained  unsolved. 
44 


Oltf  H  A  L  A  /  /.  i>   u  r  A  i:  T  s. 

It  did  not  appear,  iior  wa-  it  by  any  means  probable, 
that  \\\\  was  oiherwi.-e  than  a  stranger  to  Bullei.  until  a 
period  immediately  preceding  tin-  Chri.-tma-  races  at 
Stein's  Plains,  when  Bullet,  \\lio  had  a  ke,  .1  tjt  for  tin- 
choice  of  his  tools,  contrived  to  bring  him  under  his 
diabolical  influence.  Employed  in  the  first  place  as  a 
pander  to  the  vices  and  frauds  of  this  high-handed  vil 
lain,  believing  in  him  implicitly  as  an  aristocrat  and  a 
gentleman,  Blv  was  readily  induced  to  lend  himself  to 
crimes  of  greater  magnitude,  varnished  and  gilded  as 
tiiey  were  by  the  artful  hand  of  this  magnate  in  villany. 
Not  until  tln-ir  design  of  extracting  money  from 
liaultie  Hawle.  through  the  agency  of  George,  had 
signally  failed,  did  Bullet  broach  the  more  «:  -perate 
scheme  which  was  finally  resohed  <>n,  and  in  tin-  1'ultil- 
meiit  of  which  this  cool  and  praeli>ed  knave  took  can 
to  place  Bly  alwavs  in  the  foreground)  shrouding  him 
self  in  such  obscurity,  guarding  himself  by  such  nice 
precautions,  that  not  e\cn  so  much  a-  hi-  delicate  foot 
print  on  the  snow  could  he  hrou-ht  up  a>  evidence  against 
him,  and  that  Hannah  Mawle  alone  protc.-ted  against  the 
otlierwise  universal  belief  that  but  one  individual  had 

been  engaged  in  tin1  transaction. 

And  yet  Illy  persisted  to  the  last,  and  doubtle^  with 
truth,  that  while  a.-seiiting  to  the  plan  of  midni-lu 
robberv,  he  had  never  meditated  murder  ;  that  while 
co\eting  liaultie'-  che.-t  of  Lr"ld,  lie  had  been  no  j>arty 
to  any  .-ehcnie  ol'  further  outrage  ;  lhat  e\-  :i  in  the  fmal 
.  le  he  shrank  from  the  old  man'-  cries,  and 


THE    DARK    SIDE    OF    THE   PICTURE.  519 

would  have  had  pity  on  his  gray  hairs,  and  fled  from  the 
house  empty  hauded,  but  for  the  stern  command  of  his 
leader,  and  plainly  his  master-spirit,  Bullet.  With  bitter 
and  vindictive  reproaches,  aggravated  by  the  keen  pangs 
of  remorse  which  now  preyed  upon  him,  Ely  told  ho\v, 
at  the  critical  moment,  Bullet,  perceiving  the  old  man's 
obstinate  defence  of  his  property,  sprang  upon  the  scene 
armed  with  the  broken  sleigh  runner,  and  flinging  the 
fatal  missile  within  reach  of  his  accomplice,  charged 
him  with  a  terrible  threat  to  strike  hard,  and  strike 
home,  and  silence  the  old  brute's  cries. 

"  And  then  when  I'd  done  as  he  bade  me,"  continued 
Bly,  u  and  he'd  disposed  of  the  old  'ooman  (and  a  tough 
job  he  had  of  it,  for  she  was  a  she-wolf  to  deal  with), 
to  see  him  set  down  an'  overhaul  the  money  box,  an' 
count  out  the  cash  as  cool  as  ef  we'd  'arned  it  by  an 
honest  day's  work,  an'  slip  all  the  gold  into  his  own 
pocket,  an'  trample  on  the  old  man's  body  afore  it  was 
cold,  an'  laugh  at  me  for  a  white-livered  fool ;  — -  ah  !  I 
tell  yer,  Mister  Geordie,  that's  but  the  beginnin'  o'  the 
dark  deeds  that  I've  seen  done  under  his  flag  ;  but  be 
cause  it  was  the  fust,  an'  as  fur 's  I  was  consarned,  the 
blackest,  it  '11  haunt  me  to  my  dyin'  day,  an'  foller  me, 
like  my  shadder,  inter  the  world  to  come  that  the  parson 
tells  about.  Bless  yer  stars,  Mister  Geordie,  that  when 
yer  fortunes  was  low,  an'  yer  friends  was  false,  you  never 
give  ear  to  my  bad  counsels,  much  less  put  yerself  in  the 
power  o'  that  limb  o'  Satan,  Bullet.  Do  you  know,  Mister 
George  "  (and  here  Bly  raised  himself  in  bed,  and  gazed 


520         .  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

with  admiring  wonder  in  the  young  man's  honest  face), 
"do  yer  know  why  I  believe  in  you,  an'  trust  in  you. 
:i  in  any  body  »•!-«•.  even  tin-  parson,  an'  he  ain't 
a  bad  feller  either?  Wai,  I'll  tell  yer.  It's  because 
you're  the  only  man  that  ever  I  see  fight  the  devil  an' 
beat  him  when  once  he  had  yer  down." 

No  confession  of  Bly's  served  to  implicate  cither 
Diedrich  or  Peter  Stein  in  tin-  mid  outrage  which  lay 
so  heavy  on  his  own  conscience.  Diedrich  was  doubt 
less  not  only  ignorant,  but  innocent  of  the  whole  trans 
action,  except  so  far  as  (to  quote  Bly's  charge  against 
him  in  court),  that  tavern  of  his  was  the  nest  where 
all  the  mischief  in  the  Jerseys  was  hatched. 

His  son,  howt-vcr,  though  guiltless  of  any  participation 
in  the  crime,  could  not  be  thus  wholly  exonerated  from 
a  knowledge  of  its  authors,  except  on  the  plea  which 
Bly  always  inserted  in  his  favor,  namely,  ilia:  IVtc  was 
such  a  thick-headed  numbskull,  and  for  the  most  part  so 
muddled  with  nun,  that  it  was  doing  him  too  much 
credit  to  say  that  he  really  knew  any  thing.  It  was 
true,  that  all  the  phlegm  of  his  Dutch  ancestry  had  in 
him  degenerated  into  downright  stupidity.  Still,  Bullet 
had  found  either  in  his  duluess  or  his  wit  the  matt-rial 
for  a  useful,  though  a  mean  and  despicable  tool,  and 
had  been  in  league  with  the  lordly  villain  at  an 
earlier  date  even  than  lily.  It  was  by  means  ol'  his 
landlord's  son,  indeed,  that  Bullet  ga  Hired  the  character 
Mlilies  of  the  \  ari<>ns  n»irnes  that  eaine  under  his 
eye  and  marked  his  future  accomplice.  Il  \\;i-  1'eter's 


THE  DARK   SIDE   OF   THE   PICTURE.  521 

knowledge  of  the  training  and  accomplishments  of 
George's  mare  which  insured  success  to  her  competitor 
in  the  race,  for  it  was  no  other  than  Peter's  familiar  voice 
which  whistled  Nancy  off  her  course.  It  was  his  com 
pliant  tongue  which  first  gave  hint  of  his  uncle's  Baul- 
tie's  possessions,  and  which  finally  threw  light  upon  the 
nearest  road  to  his  house,  his  personal  habits,  the  where 
abouts  of  his  strong-box.  Peter's  attic  room,  too,  was 
the  secret  rendezvous  of  his  fellow-conspirators  ;  it  was 
here  that  they  met  by  appointment  on  the  night  of  the  mur 
der,  and  here  that  Bullet,  after  returning  from  his  visit 
to  Angie,  proved  himself  ready  for  any  game  that 
offered,  high  or  low,  by  beguiling  the  time  until  mid 
night  in  playing  at  old  sledge  with  the  maudlin  youth 
and  winning  his  last  cent. 

Although,  as  Ely  acknowledged  in  further  extenuation 
of  Peter,  they  did  not  leave  him  that  night  until  he  was 
stretched  on  the  floor  in  a  drunken  stupor,  in  which  he, 
no  doubty  lay  until  long  after  the  murder  had  got  wind, 
and  the  murderers  made  their  escape  from  the  neighbor 
hood,  it  was  next  to  impossible  that  he  should  have 
been  ignorant  of  the  parties  concerned  in  the  atrocious 
deed.  That  his  stupidity  did  not  amount  to  ignorance, 
and  that  his  conscience  failed  to  acquit  him  of  a  share 
in  the  guilt,  were  evidenced  by  the  persevering  secrecy 
which  he  maintained  on  the  subject ;  a  secrecy  which, 
considering  the  shallowness  of  his  brains  and  their  fre 
quent  bewilderment  with  drink,  must  have  been  due  to 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation. 
44* 


HAVNTE1>    III-  ARTS. 

But  though  -ale  tn>m  ju-tice  and  the  retributions  of 
ill.-  law,  who  <-an  tell  how  large  a  share  fear,  horror, 
and  ivm<.r-e  might  ha\e  had  in  hurrying  tin-  voting 
man  to  his  ruin?  and  how  busily  these  haunt  in.::  .-[>»  •<  -ires 
had  been  employed  in  digging  the  grave, —  a  drunkard's 
grave,  —  which  had  long  been  yawning  for  him? 

u  I  tell  yer,  Mister  George,"  exclaimed  Bly,  after 
alluding  to  the  easy  prey  which  IVter  had  been  to  the 
art-  of  Bullet,  "that  man  was  one  that  had  a  stomach 
fur  every  thing  that  was  a  goin',  and  was  as  cool  an'  as 
greedj  a-  a  .-hark.  He  even  knew  how  to  make  the 
most  of  his  bad  luok.  Do  you  remember  the  arm  lie 
carried  in  a  handkercher.  an'  the  wound  they  nussed 
up  so  careful  fur  him  at  Stein'.-?  AVal.  that  wa-  an 
ngly  gash  that  he  got  with  a  cutlass,  not  long  afore, 
a  board  in'  a  mi.-l'ort'nate  brig,  —  so  I  larned  arterwards 
from  one  o'  the  gang;  —  and  Bullet  made  it  tell  there 
among  the  country  folks,  an*  'specially  'm«>ng  the  gals, 
as  it'  it  had  been  a  Dinted  wound,  an'  he  the.  hero  of  a 
man  o'  war.  And  a-  to  'propriaiin'  whatever  come 
handy,  great  or  small,  it  was  a  caution  jest  to  see  what 
a  talent  he  had  fur  that.  It  made  me  open  my  eyes, 
an'  1  wan't  no  chicken  cither,  to  see  him  walk  into 
your  great-coat  the  cold  night  we  went  out  on  that 
mnrdei-in'  l.u-ine.-s.  Why,  la-  took  it  down  from  a  peg- 
on  the  wall  ag  nn'.-on.-arned  as  you  plca.-c.  hulloued 
e\ery  button  up  Ming,  an'  drew  them  woollen  mittens 
MMI  on  to  hi.-  .-leek  white  hand-  more  like  a  -indent 
lad  in  a  con.-umption  that  was  goiu'  a  sleigh  ridin*  with 


THE   DARK   SIDE    OF    THE   PICTURE.  523 

the  gals,  than  a  hardened  son  o'  the  devil  that  was  bound 
on  an  errand  o'  blood.  But  number  one  was  his  motter, 
an'  his  own  comfort  was  a  thing  he  knew  how  to  look 
out  fur  ;  why,  he'd  lord  it  like  a  prince  over  old  Stein 
in  the  parlor,  make  love  to  his  darter,  to  her  ruin,  in  the 
kitchen,  cheat  Pete  out  of  his  last  copper  at  old  sledge, 
steal  your  coat,  wind  up  with  the  murder  o'  yer  old 
uncle,  an'  sleep  as  sound  arter  his  night's  work  as  a 
farmer  boy  arter  a  huskin'  frolic  !  " 

"My  great-coat,  Bly?"  cried  George,  catching 
eagerly  at  the  one  clause  in  this  summary  of  crime, 
which,  though  thrown  out  merely  in  illustration  of 
Bullet's  light-fingered  propensities,  had  a  deeper  sig 
nificance  than  this  to  the  owner  of  the  garment.  "  My 
coat,  with  the  metal  buttons,  that  I  left  in  Peter's  room 
at  the  tavern?  What  more  about  that,  Bly?  I  have 
an  interest  at  stake  there." 

"You  hope  to  recover  the  property,  do  yer?"  que 
ried  Bly,  with  a  mingling  of  simplicity  and  face- 
tiousness. 

"  I  have  recovered  it.  My  folks  at  home  have  had 
it  laid  up  in  lavender  these  five  years." 

"  Yer  don't  say  so  !  That's  a  tough  story  for  me  to 
swaller  !  I  can't  make  that  out  no  how." 

The  expression  of  Bly's  face  was  a  mixture  of  won 
der  and  incredulity. 

"  Jest  tell  a  feller  how  that  'ere  thing  came  about, 
if  yer  can." 

George  related  the  tragical  particulars   attending  the 


524  HAVNTED    HEARTS. 

•ry  of  tlu-  clothing :  tin-  time  and  place  of  the  dis- 
OOreTJ  of  the  eorp.-e.  and  its  suppo-rd  identification, 
making  no  comment.  olH-rin.^  MO  conjecture,  purposely 
leaving  Bly  to  an  unbiased  deduction  from  the  tads, 
and  earne-tly  hoping  that  he  would  he  able  to  lill  in  the 
jre  outline  and  explain  tin-  my>tery. 

Nor  was  In-  ili -appointed.  Bly  listened  with  the  in 
tense  eagerness,  the  sharpened  curiosity,  of  one  who 
had  a  vital  interest  in  every  word,  llepre.-sed  pa-.-ioii 
distorted  his  features,  fierce  conviction  dilated  his  eye, 
as  George  proceeded,  and  almo-t  before  his  tale  wa* 
completetl  they  Inirst  forth  in  the  words.  "  The  all- 
fired  rascal!  Her.-  we  have  him  at  his  own  work  agin. 
So,  Cock  Roger,  my  fine  feller,  that  was  the  end  you 
come  ter,  was  it?  I  allers  nii-trn-trd  you'd  inert  with 
foul  play !  " 

The-e  explosions,  though  significant,  were  enigmatical 
to  George,  and  the  deep  muttering!  and  imprecations 
airaiii-t  the  pirate  captain  which  snceeded,  merely  pro\  e«l 
that  George's  storv  had  excited  in  Bly  snsj)icion-  that 
we iv  fresh  fuel  to  his  rage  against  linilei.  Hut  l>v  patient Iv 
waiting  for  the  storm  to  subside,  and  adroitly  leadinir  the 
mind  of  Bly  back  to  memories  connected  with  the  man 
whose  late  he  seemed  to  deplore,  (leorire  at  length 
-leaned  the  following  facts:  — 

During  the  few  days  which  intervened  hetweeii  the 
murder  of  K.mltie  K;i\\le  and  the  sailing  of  a  \e— .•!. 
nominally  a  nn-rchaiitman.  commanded  hy  IJoirer.  but  in 
reality  tin-  pirate  craft  of  Bullet,  lily  had,  with  others  of 


THE    DARK   SIDE    OF   THE   PICTURE.          525 

the  crew,  found  a  lurking  place  in  a  disreputable  haunt  just 
on  the  edge  of  the  wharf  from  which  their  vessel,  then 
lying  at  anchor  in  the  stream,  had  lately  cleared.  Fre 
quent  disputes  and  quarrels  had  here  arisen  between  the 
members  of  the  gang,  who  spent  most  of  their  time  in 
gambling,  and  were  usually  more  or  less  inflamed  with 
brandy ;  but  the  most  noticeable  and  obstinate  difficulty 
was  one  which  occurred  between  Bullet  and  Roger,  hith 
erto  the  most  fully  trusted  and  esteemed  of  his  men.  This 
contest  had  its  origin  in  a  division  of  the  profits  resulting 
from  some  illicit  transaction,  and  the  property  stolen  from 
George,  and  accepted  by  Roger  as  a  make-weight  in  his 
share  of  the  spoils,  gave  rise  to  the  fierce  dispute  which 
ensued.  Cock  Roger,  who  had  somewhat  reluctantly 
consented  to  receive  the  coat  in  lieu  of  a  considerable 
sum,  which  he  claimed  as  his  due,  was  proportionately 
elated  at  discovering  the  watch,  which,  hitherto  concealed 
in  the  breast-pocket,  had  escaped  the  notice  and  the 
clutches  of  Bullet.  But  his  triumph  was  cut  short  by  a 
demand  for  its  restitution  on  the  part  of  Bullet,  who 
secretly  chafed  at  being  worsted  by  his  subaltern,  and 
covetous  of  the  watch,  a  valuable  timekeeper,  swore 
that  it  was  not  included  in  the  bargain.  High  words 
succeeded.  Accusations  and  threats  were  not  wanting 
on  either  side.  For  once,  the  authority  of  Bullet  was 
defied ;  Roger  maintained  his  ground,  and  the  quarrel 
seemed  about  to  terminate  in  a  personal  struggle  and 
wrestle  for  the  prize,  when,  abruptly,  and  to  the  amaze 
ment  of  the  spectators,  Bullet,  finding  his  antagonist 


526  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

re-oluto,  cea-e«l  t«.  iirire  hi-  claim,  suffered  the  dispute  to 
subside,  and  seemed,  by  his  .-mlden  withdrawal  from  the 
conte.-t.  to  ac«piii"j(;e  in  Roger's  view  of  the  case. 

••  Hut  nobody  congraterlated  him,"  was  ll!y'>  comment 
on  this  point  of  his  narratix  c.  ••  Not  a  man  on  us  would 
h;i'  dared  to  pocket  tin-  watch  under  them  'ere  cireum- 
,-tances.  \\e  all  ii-lt  it  wuift  paid  fur  yet.  C'ock  Roger 
wa>  a  brave  feller,  though  ;  too  brave  fur  the  cap' n  by 
half.  IK-  went  about  his  business  jest  as  if  nothin'  had 
happened  ;  but  he'd  better  ha'  been  the  one  to  cave  in. 
It  wan't  nat'ral  in  the  cap'ii,  an'  it  wan't  safe.  The 
watch  cost  Roger  a  big  enough  price  'fore  he'd  done 
with  it." 

"You  think  it  cost  him  his  life."  .-aid  (ioorge. 

"  Tli  ////.-.  Mister  George  !  I ///«»////// s«»  at  the  time;  now 
I  knoir.  It  was  the  niirht  'lore  we  sailed  that  they  had 
the  row.  The  cap'n  managed  to  keep  Roger  busy 
a-hore  until  he  had  sent  us  all  aboard.  Them  two  were  to 
foller  sometime  arter  midnight  in  the  cap'n's  gig.  Only  one 
on  'em  ever  come  up  the  ship's  side.  'Roger  \\a-  late.' 
the  cap'n  .-aid  :  •  the  tide  sarvcd,  an'  lie  couldn't  wait  fur 
him.  No  irreat  !«»  —  .'  he  muttered,  and  thru  he  irive 
orders  to  weigh  anchor  an'  be  off.  The  tide  sarved.  no 
doubt,  an'  swept  Cock  Roger  inter  etaruiiy.  It  was  no 
wonder  the  cap'n  couldn't  wait.  —  an'  a-  to  mi-.-in'  him, 
—  wal,  I  in-ver  heard  much  said  on  that  score,  an'  there 
\\vrr  no  (|iie-tions  asked;  but  there  was  one  aboard,  I 
can  tell  yer.  that  mi->ed  him,  an'  mi-tru-ted  the  end  he'd 
ter.  an'  often  expected,  in  a  dark  ni'jht.  in  See  hi- 


THE    DARK    SIDE    OF    THE   PICTURE.  527 

ghost  come  climbin'  up  the  bowsprit.  He  was  a  hand 
some,  light-complectered  feller,  Mister  Geordie,  an'  about 
your  height  an'  build,  —  the  best  o'  the  gang,  an'  the  most 
of  a  man,  to  my  thiukin'.  Give  'em  fair  play  and  he'd 
ha'  beat  Bullet,  out  an'  out,  —  an'  so  the  rascal  give  him 
foul  play,  which  was  more  in  his  line,  an'  pra'ps  saved  Cock 
Roger,  arter  all,  from  a  wuss  fate.  There's  a  sayin',  yer 
know,  '  them  that  are  born  to  be  hung  '11  never  be 
drowned,'  an  Cock  Roger  was  meant  for  a  better  fate 
than  the  cap'n  's  a  comin'  ter,  if  he  was  a  London  cock 
ney,  an'  Bullet,  as  he  purtended,  a  gentleman  born." 

Bly  would  have  dilated  at  length  upon  the  event  which 
had  been  elucidated  and  explained  by  the  comparison  of 
facts  between  himself  and  George  ;  but  George,  sickened 
and  shocked  at  the  final  act  of  depravity  thus  exhibited, 
shrank  from  further  comments  or  details,  and  was  glad 
to  escape,  at  length,  from  the  presence  of  Bly,  and  from 
the  picture  of  crime  which,  together,  they  had  conjured 
up.  For  Bly's  sake,  too,  he  forbore  dwelling  upon  a 
topic  calculated  to  excite  the  angry  emotions,  which  true 
benevolence  sought  to  quiet  and  dissipate  in  the  mind  of 
the  dying  man.  He  devoutly  trusted  that  the  veil,  being 
at  length  removed  from  the  last  of  those  mysteries 
which  the  hand  of  Bullet  had  woven,  he  should  be  spared 
any  further  acquaintance  with  the  vile  practices  of  one, 
whose  career  had  been  so  singularly  interwoven  with  his 
own. 

One  phase,  however,  still  remained  to  the  completion 
of  the  moral  portrait  of  a  man,  the  cruel  depravity  of 


528  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

whose  nature  scemr<l  only  equalled  by  its  corresponding 
meanness  and  coward i<v. 

••  You've  been  paying  a  visit  to  poor  Ely,  1  believe, 
sir,"  was  the  remark  uddre.-.-ed  to  George  by  the  prison 
chaplain,  wlmm  he  met  ill  one  of  the  corridors,  ju.-t  at'ler 
li-a\ing  the  sick  man's  <vll. 

George  assented  by  an  ailirmative  nod,  and  added  a 
lew  words  of  compassion  for  the  prisoner's  wasted  and 
hopeless  condition. 

"  Yes,"  responded  the  minister,  an  earnest,  intelligent 
missionary,  whose  services  at  the  prison  were  voluntarily 
rendered,  "it's  a  terrible  thing  to  see  death  fasten  itself 
upon  a  fellow-being  whose  abuse  of  life  has  steeped  him, 
soul  and  body,  in  corruption  ahva<lv.  And  yet  Bly  isn't 
the  worst  man  in  the  world.  His  ignorance  of  every 
thing  except  what  the  animal  instincts  teach  is  pitiable. 
His  appeal  on  the  score  of  this  ignorance  of  good,  and  of 
that  early  initiation  into  evil  which  was  the  only  educa 
tion  he  ever  had,  is  almost  childlike,  and  touches  me 
deeply.  It  is  an  appeal  which  will  avail  him,  I  am  sure, 
at  Heaven's  bar,  though  I  am  by  no  means  hopeless  that 
he  will  carry  with,  h i i u  there  the  more  certain  passport 
of  a  penitent  and  forgiven  soul.  No,  Bly  is  not  the 
worst  man  I  ever  saw  ;  but  I'll  tell  you,  Captain  Kawle, 
\\lio  is:"  and  point  ing  toward-  the  door  of  a  vaulted  and 
well-secured  cell  in  which  Bullet  was  awaiting  his  execu 
tion,  t4ie  chaplain  continued,  in  a  sad  and  meditative, 
tone.  —  "that  man  there  ha.- revealed  to  me  more  of  the 
pox  <j  | do  degradation  of  our  human  nature  than  I  ever 
saw  before  or  expect  to  see  again. 


THE    DARK    SIDE    OF    THE    PICTURE.        529 

"  His  crimes  have  not  the  same  palliation  as  those  of 
Ely,  or  the  other  poor  fellows  of  his  gang.  He  has  evi 
dently  had  some  early  opportunities,  and  at  least  affects 
education  and  refinement,  though  he  has  debased  them 
into  education  in  sin  and  refinement  in  cruelty.  God 
knows  the  processes  by  which  his  heart  has  been  turned 
to  flint,  and  God  has  the  means,  I  doubt  not,  to  soften  it. 
But  I  have  lost  all  hope  of  serving  as  his  instrument." 

"  He  scoffs  at  religion,  I  dare  say,"  remarked  George  ; 
u  insults  you,  perhaps,  when  you  name  it  to  him." 

UO,  that  wouldn't  discourage  me,"  replied  the  chap 
lain.  "  I  have  not  labored  in  our  city  prisons  these  ten 
years  without  being  used  to  all  that.  But  my  time,  or 
rather  God's  time,  usually  comes  at  last,  and  I  have 
learned  to  wait  patiently  for  it.  The  scoffer  discourages 
me  the  least  of  all  men,  —  especially  in  cases  of  criminals 
condemned  to  death." 

"  Bullet,  then,  does  not  fear  death?  " 

"Ah,  captain,  there's  my  trouble,  and  the  secret  of  my 
discouragement.  The  man  is  so  entirely  possessed  with, 
and  given  over  to  this  fear,  that  he  is  insensible  to  every 
thing  else.  I  don't  mean  fear  of  the  hereafter ;  I  can't 
detect  a  spark  of  that.  It  is  simply  an  abject,  craven 
fear  of  the  gallows.  As  the  time  draws  near  for  his 
execution  he  is  losing  all  his  self-control ;  even  his  pride 
and  impudence  are  forsaking  him.  He  creeps  to  the 
very  knees  of  the  head  jailer,  and  entreats  the  lowest 
turnkeys  to  solicit  the  mercy  of  government  for  him. 
During  the  time  that  I  spend  with  him  he  can  speak  and 
45 


530  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 

think  of  nothing  but  the  chances  of  a  reprieve.  There  is 
not,  of  course,  a  shadow  of  chance  for  him,  and  I  have 
told  him  .-o  plainly." 

••  lint  lie  cannot  reali/e  it?  —  will  not  believe  it?"         ^ 

u  Hi-  will  believe  nothing — ivali/r  nothing  but  this 
nightmare  ot'  dread.  The  attendants  ridicule  and  de- 
,-pi-e  tin-  poor  wretch  ;  and  even  I,  Captain  Uawle.  in 
spite  of  mv  cloth,"  —  and  here  the  clergvman  -ecined  to 
address  (ieoruv  conlidentiallv,  (every  body,  sonic  how, 
recogni/.ed  and  conlided  in  (ieorge's  sympathetic  quali 
ties) — "I  COlife-.-  to  you  that  I  had  hoped  to  find  in  this 
bad  man  the  one  virtue  ot'  courage,  e\en  though  it  \\riv 
oi'the  ruffianly  sort.  It  would  have  been  a  lu-tter  -round- 
work  of  hope  than  a  staU'  of  mind  that  i.-  deba.-ing  and 
brutalizing  him  to  the  la-t  de-iv.-.  I'pMii  my  word  I 
believe  it  will  end  in  their  being  compelled  to  drag  him 
to  the  gallows  at  la>t.  Young  man.  you  are  a  Christian  ; 
I  know  it  by  your  deeds  of  charity  to  P>1) V  —  and  the 
minister  grasped  George's  hand,  —  u  pray  for  me  that  I 
may  be  inspired  with  some  power  to  help  and  sustain 
this  degraded  fellow-creature." 

But  prayers  and  ell'orts  failed  to  arrest  the  fulfilment 
ot'  the  chaplain's  prophecv  ;  and  when  the  dav  of  t-\c.-u- 
;i«Mi  came  it  was  verified  to  the  letter. 

Here  MTU  revenge  for  Hannah,  if  she  .-till  xnijjr.  ami 
coxeted  it.  But  Hannah  was  not  >o  unlike  the  re.- 1  ol 
tlie  community  th;ii  .-lie  conld  dei'i\e  satisfaction  from 
such  horror.-.  Hannah's  mood  wa-  altered  —  humbled. 
Shi-  sat  often  with  the  liihle  op. MI  mi  her  lap,  reading 


THE    DARK    SIDE    OF    THE    PICTURE.        531 

chiefly,  I  must  confess,  the  psalms  of  deliverance  and  the 
prophetic  warnings  of  an  avenging  God  ;  but  she  lis 
tened  now  in  silence,  sometimes  in  tears,  to  reports  that 
from  time  to  time  reached  her  of  the  sufferings  and  peni 
tence  of  Ely,  and  showed  no  such  bitter  rancor  towards 
Bullet  as  might  once  have  been  anticipated  from  her.  I 
do  not  think  she  would  have  liked  to  have  them  go  free 
and  unpunished  altogether  of  God  or  man.  Her  ideas 
of  justice  and  retribution  were  still  stringent.  But  she 
did  not  now  seek  to  have  any  voice  in  the  matter.  "  She 
had  washed  her  hands  of  them,"  she  said,  "  and  was  con 
tent  to  leave  them  in  the  hands  of  Heaven  and  the  law. 


.,.,2  HAUNTED    HEARTS. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

A    1  AKEWKLL    CLIMPSE. 

\Vi.  have  taken  the  liberty  to  pry  into  the  secrets, 
probe  the  hearts,  and  sift  the  lives  of  the  inmates  of  the 
Rawle  cottage  for  five  years  past.  What  forbids  our 
taking  one  more  observation  before  bidding  them  fare 
well? 

It  is  -now  about  three  weeks  since  George's  return. 
It  is  a  cold,  clear  afternoon  in  January,  —  so  cold  that 
the  snow,  which  is  spread  a  foot  deep  over  the  Jersey 
meadows,  is  encrusted  with  a  firm,  icy  surface,  —  so  clear 
that  the  polished  crust  shines  like  a  silver  mirror.  But 
it  is  warm  as  well  as  bright  in  doors,  for  George,  an 
hour  ago,  brought  in  a  famous  back-log  and  fore-stick. 
and  piled  the  dry  wood  on  top  of  them  in  a  workman 
like  manner,  so  that  the  fireplace  is  primed  for  a  long 
winter's  niirht.  It  is  the  one  leisure  hour  of  the  day, 
between  the  early  dinner  and  the  equally  primitive  tea- 
time,  when  the  kitchen  is  a  model  of  neatness,  when 
tin -iv  is  nothiii'j-  especial  expected  of  any  body,  when 
even  the  cat  Mretches  herself  more  at  her  BM6,  and  purrs 


A    FAREWELL     GLIMPSE.  533 

undisturbed  in  front  of  the  fire,  her  paws  just  dipped 
in  the  warm  ashes  which  fringe  the  bed  of  glowing 
embers.  It  is  the  hour  when  Hannah  and  Margery  are 
accustomed  to  take  a  serious  and  premeditated  pinch 
of  snuff,  when  Hannah  subsides  into  a  nap  and  Margery 
into  a  fit  of  meditation,  under  the  influence  of  this 
grateful  little  indulgence  ;  when  the  tea-kettle,  pushed 
out  to  the  end  of  the  crane,  ceases  its  hissing ;  when  no 
business  is  persevered  in  except  on  the  part  of  the  old 
clock,  which  keeps  up  its  ticking  behind  the  door,  and 
of  Angie's  fingers,  which,  like  those  of  the  faithful  time 
piece,  are  impelled  by  such  a  spirit  of  industry  that 
they  are  rarely  known  to  be  idle. 

The  monotonous  regularity  of  this  non-occupation  or 
semi-activity  has  been  somewhat  invaded  since  George's 
return.  Only  the  other  day  it  was  at  this  hour  that 
he  resumed  the  unpacking  of  his  sea-chest,  and  now, 
again,  to-day  he  has  been  claiming  Angie's  attention  for 
a  half  hour  or  more.  They  have  not  been  disturbing 
the  old  folks,  however,  for  their  employment  has  been 
an  exclusive  and  quiet  one,  though  mutually  satisfactory. 
George  has  had  the  charts  of  his  recent  voyages  spread 
upon  the  floor  (there  was  no  table  in  the  house  large 
enough),  and  he  and  Angie  together  have  been  tracing 
his  ship's  course,  by  means  of  the  delicate  lines  pricked 
out  with  the  point  of  a  pin. 

Nothing  could  in  themselves  be  more  void  of  interest 
than  these  charts,  blank  white  sheets,  intersected  by 
lines  of  latitude  and  longitude,  relieved  only  by  here 
45* 


;>34  HA  r.v  i  r  i>    11  r A  i:  US. 

a  sunken  reef,  there  an  insignificant  group  of  islands, 
liut  George,  who  read  in  tin-  long,  serpentine  course 
of  his  .ship,  traced  by  him  from  day  to  day,  tin-  hi  — 
torv  of  all  those  storms  and  lulls,  head  winds  and 
<-alms,  by  the.  balllinir  or  braving  of  which  In-  had 
reached  at  la-t  his  dr-iivd  ha\en.  found  in  it  a  lively 
interest.  To  Angie  it  was  l>nt  a  line  »>!'  dots,  to  be  sure  ; 
but  love  can  lill  a  space  no  larger  than  a  pin's  point 
with  vi.-ions  as  boundless  as  love  itself;  and  Angie, 
seeing  in  each  scarce  perceptible  dot  a  day  of  George's 
experience,  felt,  in  thus  recapitulating  his  voyages  with 
him,  that  they  were  living  over  again  together  months 
and  years  of  cruel  M-paration. 

So  they  have  been  very  happy  over  the  charts  ;  but 
even  making,  as  they  did.  the  most  of  it.  it  was  a  >h«»rt- 
li\«'d  enjoyment.  The  charts  aiv  done  with,  are  rolled 
up  and  placed  upright  in  one  corner,  (Imrge  is  sitting 
at  a  window  amu>iug  himself  with  a  book,  —  an  old 
history  of  tra\els  which  he  has  found  somewhere; 
Angle  has  resumed  her  work  at  an  oppo-ite  window,  a 
handkerchief  I  think  it  is  which  she  is  hemming,  one 
of  those  gra>— cloth  handkerchiefs,  which  people  who  go 
to  sea  are  so  apt  to  bring  home.  —  a  full-si/ed  handker 
chief, —  so  she  must  lie  hemming  it  for  George  himself. 
It  i>  a  .-ati.-faclion  to  me,  knowing  him  so  well,  to 
believe  that  among  all  the  rare  articles  he  has  brought 
for  other  people,  there  i.-..  at  lea>t,  one  trilling  thing 
iued  for  his  own  n->-. 

IJiit     he     interrupts     her      again.       This     time     it     is 


A    FAREWELL    GLIMPSE.  535 

something  in  his  book  which  he  wants  to  read  to  her,  — 
George  is  of  such  a  sympathetic  nature  that  he  never 
can  enjoy  any  thing  alone  ;  no,  it  is  a  print,  a  little 
wood-cut  which  he  has  discovered,  and  which  she  must 
see,  for  he  crosses  the  room  to  show  it  to  her.  Now  lie 
stands  leaning  over  her  shoulder,  pointing  out  this  and 
that  to  her  notice.  "  This  is  just  the  way  they  build 
their  houses  in  Surinam  !  —  that  must  be  a  mangrove 
tree  ;  I've  seen  precisely  such  growing  out  there  !  "  he 
adds,  by  way  of  illustrating  the  pictures.  "  And  look 
here  !  "  —  turning  the  page,  —  ;'  you  must  read  that 
description  ;  this  book  is  an  account  of  travels  in  South 
America,  and  I  can  assure  you  it's  all  true."  Then, 
as  she  reads,  interrupting  herself  frequently  with  ex 
clamations  of  interest  or  surprise,  he  confirms  the  text 
in  a  low  voice  with,  "  O,  the  sail  up  that  river  is 
delightful !  —  you  will  like  it,  I  am  sure  ;  I  was  thinking 
of  you  all  the  time  I  was  there  !  "  or  "  How  I  longed  to 
have  you  breathing  that  delicious  climate  he  tells  about ; 
it  will  do  you  a  world  of  good ;  it's  just  what  you 
need,  Angie  !  "  which  last  significant  hints  of  his  antici 
pations  Angie  does  not  hear,  or  pretends  not  to  under 
stand,  for  she  makes  no  response,  but  seems  absorbed 
in  the  book,  so  much  so  that  George  forbears  to  interrupt 
her  further  until  she  shall  have  finished  the  passage. 

Meanwhile  Hannah  had  been  sleeping  soundly  ;  Mar 
gery,  too,  quite  unobservant  of  the  young  people,  had 
been  dreaming  some  pleasant  day-dream  or  other,  which 
was  none  the  less  pleasant  that  it  suddenly  terminated 
in  a  long  drawn  "  Heigh-ho  !  " 


.">:',•;  n  i  /  \  /  /  //  ///  \  KTS. 

••Hallo!  What'-  that  I  heai  • :  "  exclaimed  George, 
turning  toward-  her  in  glad  surprise.  ,  "Why,  mother. 
that's  as  welcome  to  my  car-  as  an  old  turn-  !  J  thought 
I'd  missed  something.  What's  hocome  of  all  the  'ln-igh- 
hos '  and  '  ho-hums '  that  I've  been  used  to  from  a 
boy?" 

u  Dearie  me  !  George,"  responded  Margery  (GeOrge 
smiling  significantly  as  another  of  the  old  expressions 
thus  fell  from  her  lips),  I've  had  io  -mother  my  griefs 
and  swaller  them  of  late.  They  come  to  the  surface 
now.  That's  all." 

*•  And  what'.-  the  matter,  then,  mother?"  he  asked, 
with  mock  seriousness,  for  it  was  easy  enough  for  any 
body  to  see  that  Margery  was  nowadays  the  embodi 
ment  of  content,  a.-  .-lie  had  formerly  been  of  woe. 

"  Alackadav !  Nothing  child.  Only  I  was  thinking 
whether  or  no  that  pickle  I  made  for  the  green  ham 
didn't  want  >ecin'  to;"  and  rising,  with  alertness,  the 
rejuvenated  «»ld  woman  trotted  off*  to  the  pantry,  where 
most  of  the  work  of  the  household  was  carried  on. 

"It  does  my  heart  good  to  see  her,"  commented 
George,  a-  having  watched  her  bri-k  step  through  the 
door-way  he  turned  again  toward-  An-ie.  u  It's  won- 
deri'nl  how  she's  coming  round.  Why,  she  looks  ten 
y.'itr-  younger  already  !  " 

"She   di»r.-."  returned  Angie.  in    cordial    assent,    "and 

jTOtmger,  !•»«•  ;"  an  opinion  which  Angie  pr.ice. ded  to 

illustrate  by  a  comparison  of  MarjeryV  former  feebleness 

and    incapacitv    with    he.r    pre-ent    activity    and    personal 


A    FAREWELL    GLIMPSE.  537 

oversight  of  the  household,  offices  which  Hannah,  who  is 
her  sister-in-law's  senior  by  many  years,  and  who  is  now 
more  than  willing  to  sink  into  the  repose  of  old  age,  for 
tunately  does  not  seem  to  begrudge  her. 

"They'll  not  miss  you  so  very  much  after  all,  An 
gle,"  continued  George.  "  It  would  be  vanity  in  you  to 
believe  the  contrary.  We  shall  be  back  here  again  be 
fore  midsummer,  and  please  God,  find  them  well  and 
hearty  as  ever." 

To  which  Angie  only  responded  by  shaking  her  head 
from  side  to  side  in  the  negative  fashion,  and  bending 
lower  than  ever  over  her  work. 

But  George,  meanwhile,  was  playfully  trying  to  wrest 
her  work  from  her,  expostulating  against  it  as  unneces 
sary,  and  throwing  out  broad  hints  concerning  a  certain 
piece  of  India  muslin  (one  of  his  gifts),  which  it  was 
quite  time  for  her  to  commence  operations  upon. 

"  You'll  want  it  made  up  very  soon,  you  know,"  he 
whispered.  .  "  You  must  wear  it  the  day  we  send  for  the 
dominie ;  and  in  Surinam  half  a  dozen  such  dresses 
won't  be  too  many  ;  they  all  wear  white  in  Surinam. 
I  wonder  what  they'll  say  to  you  out  there  (with  un 
mistakable  elation  in  his  tone)  ;  I  wonder  how  they'll 
like  you,  my  friend  Harry,  and  the  rest  of  them." 

"  Not  at  all !  "  murmured  Angie,  "  not  at  all.  Don't 
speak  of  it,  George  !  It  can't  be.  It  mustn't  be.  I've 
seen  so  many  wretched  days,  the  life,  the  spirit,  is  all 
gone  out  of  me.  I  never  shall  be  bright  or  young  again. 
It  might  have  been  once,  but  not  now." 


//,!  r.N  /  A:/>   u  i    i  /;  ys. 
To  which  George  -imply  -aid.   M  Non-ei 

% 

\  td  ihcn  when  .-he  per-i-ted,  sighed,  and  let  a  tear 
drop  on  her  work,  he  snatched  the  work  from  her 
hand,  told  hrr  .-he  was  nervous,  depressed  ;  that  he  was 
-ure  >he  mu.-t  lie  ill  :  .-lie  needed  fiv-lt  air  and  change  of 
scene.  She  must  go  to  New  York  with  him  the  next 
day.  sec  the  fashions,  and  visit  the  landlady  of  the  ••  Pipe 
and  Bowl,"  who  only  yesterday  was  inquiring  for  her ; 
k'and  meantime,"  he  said,  cheerily,  putting  his  arm- 
round  her  waist,  lifting  her  from  her  chair,  and  at  the 
-ame  time  giving  her  a  hearty  ki-<  ( -aticy  fellow,  he 
made  nothing  of  kissing  her  nowadays),  "  come,  and 
take  a  walk  with  me!  It  will  do  you  good." 

"But  I  am  .-erioiis,  George,"  sobbed  An.iric,  trying, 
though  (juiie  in  vain,  to  evade  both  his  petition  ami  his 
caress.  "  You  know  I  love  you  ;  shall  always  love  you  ; 
but  you  must  let  me  stay  here  with  the  old  folks.  It's 
better  so.  Besides,  I'm  not  worthy  of  you  —  you're  -o 
good,  and  I  —  I  —  wronged  you  so.  I  don't  feel,  some 
how,  as  if  I  deserved  to  be  hap] 

"You  think  because  you've  been  miserable  so  long 
you're  bound  to  be  so  always  ;  and  because  I've  had  to 
wait  li\e  years  for  my  wife,  I'm  never  to  have  her;  and 
breause  \on'\e  wronged  me  (though  I  don't  allow  that. 
AiiL'ie  ;  and  if  you  love  me.  you'll  ne\er  speak  of  it 
a.L'ain).  I'm  not  to  lie  righted  at  la-t.  ()  Anirie!  you're 
a  -illy  L'irl.  and  your  rea>oniiiLr  i-  ali-urd  beyond  any 
thin-.:.  Come.  Lret  \<>nr  tliiii'j-  !  I  m-\  er  -aw  any  body 
thai  IK  eded  the  tre-h  air  m«»re  than  you  do." 


A    FAREWELL    GLIMPSE.  539 

This  was  not  the  first  time  that  Angie  had  thus  dis 
paraged  herself,  and  tried  to  convince  George  of  her 
unworthiness  to  be  his  wife  ;  possibly,  it  was  not  the 
last.  But  things  were  changed  since  their  old  days  of 
courtship,  when  George's  love  shrank  abashed  at  every 
obstacle  raised  by  Angie.  The  resolution,  the  confi 
dence,  were  all  on  his  side  now  ;  and  what  argument 
or  raillery  failed  to  accomplish,  were  brought  about 
through  powers  in  which  he  had  gained  wonderful  pro 
ficiency  during  those  years  of  suffering  and  banishment 
which  had  developed  and  invigorated  his  manhood.  But 
Love's  eloquence  expresses  itself  in  whispers,  which  it 
would  be  meanness  to  overhear,  treachery  to  make  pub 
lic,  and  in  looks  that  love  only  can  interpret ;  so  though 
Angle's  scruples,  on  the  present  occasion,  "were  not  si 
lenced  by  George's  reasoning,  the  looks  and  words 
of  love  that  prevailed  at  last,  and  left  the  victory  with 
him,  must  be  matters  of  suspicion,  except  so  far  as  they 
were  revealed  by  the  smiles  and  blushes,  which,  as  she 
left  the  room,  in  gentle  and  compliant  mood,  to  prepare 
for  her  walk,  shone  through  her  tears,  and  played  over 
her  face  in  rainbows. 

She  returned  equipped  in  cloak  and  hood,  —  a  new 
scarlet  cloak,  —  Hannah's  gift.  Hannah,  who  had  always' 
kept  the  purse,  had,  it  seemed,  a  secret  horde,  and  was 
resolved  that  Angie,  "  our  Angie,"  as  she  coiled  her, 
should  be  fit  to  be  seen,  now  that  she  went  regularly  to 
church  with  the  captain  ;  and  the  faded  hood  was  fresh 
ened  up,  too,  with  Avonderful  art  and  boasted  a  bright 
cherry  lining  to  match  the  cloak. 


540 

With  what  mutual  satisfact  imi  they  pel  1'orth  on  their 
wintry  excursion  !  How  c\ultantlv  they  biva-ted  the  clear 
sliarp  wind,  drawing  in  new  lite  ami  exhilaration  of 
-,'irits  at  every  breath!  How  daintily  and  cautiou-lv 
•  •  trod  the  glistening  snow-mist  at  tir.-t,  and  with 
what  a  bold  and  elastic  step  at  length,  as  she  gradually 
acquired  confidence  in  her  own  BUre-footednoss,  and  real 
ized  what  a  firm  stay  she  possessed  in  the  arm  on  which 
she  leaned !  How  strongly  and  tenderly  George  sup 
ported  the  dear  Lrirl  and  guided  her  steps  !  With  what  joy 
and  pride  he  ga/ed  upon  her  a-  she  tripped  lightly  beside 
him!  And  she  was  a  pretty  ol.ji.-et,  even  for  less  partial 
eyes  than  George's.  The  scarlet  cloak  and  hood  pro 
duced  such  a  gay  andjanty  effect,  sported  on  her  graceful 
figure,  and  contrasted  with  the  spotless  snow !  Her 
cheeks,  still  pale,  and  not  quite  so  rounded  as  they  had 
once  been,  glowed  with  exercise  and  caught  radiance  from 
the  gorgeouSydouds  that  fringed  the  western  horizon,  and 
the  saucy  wind  curled  and  rippled  the  jetty  locks  that 
escaped  coquettishly  from  her  hood  (it  must  be  confessed, 
though  I  whisper  it  between  the  bars  of  a  parenthesis, 
that  a  dash  of  the  old  coquetry,*  the  French  comme  il 
faut,  had  again  crept  into  Angle's  dress  and  air,  though 
•her  character  was  guiltless  of  its  taint).  I  wonder  if 
George  had  ever  detected  any  diminution  in  the  beauty 
which  he  had  worshipped  of  yore.  I'll  warrant  not.  He 
was  not  one  to  spy  out  flaws  or  detect  imperfections  in 
the  woman  he  loved.  IIi<  heart  was  sure  rather  to 
ideali/.e  its  ol.jcct.  Worn,  harassed,  distressed,  \  . 


A    FAREWELL    GLIMPSE.  541 

had  appeared  to  him  at  first,  but  how  could  it  be  other 
wise?  There  was  cause  enough  for  it,  Heaven  knew. 
The  change,  great  as  it  was,  had  but  proved  a  fresh  claim 
to  his  tenderness  and  sympathy,  and  since  then,  —  why, 
she  was  more  beautiful  than  ever  in  his  eyes. 

Nor  were  his  eyes  so  far  wrong  either.  If  love  is  often 
deceived  and  blind,  it  is  none  the  less  certain  that  happi 
ness  is  a  miraculous  beautifier,  and  joy  had  day  by  day 
been  illumining,  harmonizing,  rejuvenating  the  form  and 
features  of  Angie  until  the  once  dashing  and  brilliant 
traits  of  the  girl  were  put  to  shame  by  the  softer  graces 
of  her  purified  and  ripened  womanhood.  So  George  was 
not  so  very  far  wrong,  when  in  answer  to  Angie's  protest 
again^some  excessive  adulation  of  his,  on  the  ground 
that  she  was  too  old  and  faded  now  to  be  cheated,  as  she 
Tised  to  be,  by  flattery,  he  exclaimed,  "Why,  Angie,  I 
was  just  thinking  that  if  you  kept  on  improving  at  the 
rate  you- have  for  the  last  five  years,  you'd  be  an  angel 
before  your  time." 

Yes,  it  really  seemed  a  pity  that  these  two  had  the 
road  all  to  themselves  this  winter  afternoon,  they  were 
such  a  handsome  couple,  such  an  ornament  to  the  laud- 
scape.  George,  so  vigorous,  well-formed,  and  manly, 
Angie,  so  graceful,  piquant  and  radiant,  and  both  so  ani 
mated  with  the  sentiment  which  is  the  soul  of  all  beauty  ! 
They  did  not  think  it  a  pity,  however.  All  the  world 
could  not  have  added  to  the  happiness  they  had  in  one 
another.  A  single  presence  more  intrusive  than  that  of 
the  little  snowbirds  that  now  and  then  hopped  in  their 
46 


.",!•_'  HA  i  A  /  ii,    n  r  t  /:  i 

path,  might,  aiul  probably,  would  have  subtract.'.!  some 
thing  I'nnn  the  ecstasy  of  p'ea-ure  with  which,  "the 
world  forgetting  and  by  the  world  forgot,"  they  mo\,d 

with  buoyant,  almost  dancing  steps,  over  thr  surface  of  the 
polished  Miow-erust,  defying  winter,  and  with  a  \\hole 

immer  in  their  hearts. 

They  made  a  circuit  of  s«»uu;  three  miles  in  their  walk. 
returning  by  the  way  of  the  tavern,  where,  according  t«> 
tlieir  intentional  setting  out,  they  stopped  and  went  in. 
A  \  i  it  to  the  tavi-ni  was  now,  on  their  part,  of  daily 
occurrence  at  least.  What  a  sudden  ehanirc  of  sceno  from 
the  bracing  air  and  sunset  glow  without  to  the.  close 
atmosphere  and  dark  gloomy  aspect  of  the  tavern  kitchen, 
where,  on  their  entrance  Old  Stein,  ivsth-ss  and  ucr\<>u-. 
was  groping  about,  fumbling  now  and  then  at  the  drawers 
of  an  old  secretary  and  shivering  with  cold.  f,»r  the  tin- 
on  the  hearth  had  been  suil'eivd,  perhaps  encouraged,  to 
go  out,  and  the  solitary  stick  of  wood  had  split  into  two 
thin  and  blackened  brands,  which  stood  upright  against 
the  andirons.  George  walked  to  the  lin  place  and 
taking  the  tongs  stirred  the  smouldering  embers,  n-laid 
the  fuel  and  kindled  a  bla/e,  umvbuked  of  his  uncle,  who 
stood  \acantly  looking  on.  and  when  the  flame  was  lighted 
crept  up  and  >pivad  \\\>  thin  hands  in  front  of  it,  with  the 
same  satisfaction  with  which  lie  would  once  have  warmed 
himself  at  somebody's  eUe  tire. 

\    Jr.    in    the   mean   time,    had   proceeded   directly  up 
Stain   to  a  comfortable    upper   room,  the    door    of  which 
ajar.      She  had    no    oeea-ioii    to    knock,  —  she    R  Lf 


A    FAKE  WELL    GLIMPSE.  543 

too  frequent,  too  welcome  a  visitor  to  this  room  to  stand 
on  ceremony.  An  instant's  pause  at  the  threshold, 
however,  and  an  oblique  cast  of  the  head,  told  how 
attentively,  anxiously,  -  she  was  listening  to  the  deep, 
hard-drawn  breathing  of  some  sufferer  within ;  then, 
instinctively  unclasping  her  red  cloak  and  throwing  it, 
as  also  her  gay  hood,  over  the  baluster  of  the  staircase 
(such  gay  trappings  were  out  of  place  here),  the  neat 
figure,  clad  in  sober  brown,  slid  noiselessly,  as  was  her 
wont,  into_the  sick  room.  She  was  welcomed  by  a  thin, 
imploring  hand,  a  gesture  of  distress,  and  an  "  O 
Angie  !  "  that  was  more  expressive  than  any  complaint. 
"You  don't  feel  so  well,  do  you,  Polly?  "she  said, 
in  a  sympathetic  tone,  as  she  lifted  the  sufferer's  head, 
and  rearranged  her  pillow ;  "  have  you  had  your 
drops?"  and  on  Polly's  making  a  sign  in  the  negative, 
Angie  took  bottle  and  spoon  from  the  mantelpiece,  and 
administered  the  dose  with  the  confidence  of  one  to 
Avhom  the  act  was  familiar.  Then  she  sat  down  beside 
the  bed  a  while,  noted  and  inquired  pitifully  concerning 
each  increased  symptom  of  pain,  and  tried  to  soothe 
and  comfort  the  poor  thing,  who  moaned  like  a  fretful, 
exhausted  child.  And  when  at  last  she  had  moaned 
herself  into  an  uneasy  doze,  Angie  moved  gently  about 
the  room,  prepared  medicine  and  nourishment  for  the 
night,  and  then,  as  Polly  still  slept,  crept  down  stairs 
to  the  kitchen.  Here  G-eorge  was  equally  engaged  in 
an  office  of  sympathy  and  benevolence,  for  Stein,  with 
chair  drawn  up  close  beside  that  of  his  nephew,  was 


5H  HAUNTED   HEAETS. 

making  mysterious  and  confidential  communication-,  to 
him.  and  with  an  a-joni/ed  expression  was  seeking  his 
aid  and  advi«v.  This  was  not  unusual.  Fiv»|uently, 
sinci-  George's  return,  he  had  been  summoned  to  the 
tavern  to  protect  the  feeble  old  man  from  the  assaults 
of  his  son.  who,  though  broken  and  enfeebled  by  the 
grossest  intemperance,  became,  when  fully  inflamed  by 
liquor,  intractable  and  dangerons,  especially  to  his  father, 
against  whom,  on  these  occasions,  he  always  seemed  in 
furiated.  This  danger  and  dread  was  averted  for  the 
present  by  the  agency  of  George,  who,  since  Polly  came 
home  to  die,  had  found  it  more  than  ever  important  to  dis 
pose  of  Peter,  and  secure  the  peace  of  the  household,  by  con 
signing  him  to  the  county  jail,  where  he  had  often  already 
been  temporarily  committed  on  charges  of  drunkenness, 
and  whore  for  the  present  he  was  confined.  But  for 
George,  Polly  would  have  breathed  out  her  life  among  out- 
MSftt)  po— il.lv  died  of  starvation.  He  had  found  her  by 
chance  in  .-ome  wretched  haunt  to  which  he  had  been 
led  with  the  benevolent  purpose  of  seeking  out  and 
rescuing  some  of  his  sailors.  Any  one  else  might  have 
striven  in  vain  to  win  her  back  to  the  protection  of  home 
and  friends;  but  if  there  had  ever  been  beside  love 
lor  her  child  one  pure  and  unselfish  sentiment  to  redeem 
Polly's  nature  from  its  corrupting  associations,  it  was  an 
admiring  afl'ection  for  her  cousin  George,  an  implicit 
faith  in  hi-  goodness.  She  was,  just  then,  too  subdued 
to  an  unwonted  docility,  for  her  four  year  old  babe,  that 
hail  only  half  blossomed  into  life,  and  that  ye-terday. 


A    FAREWELL     GLIMPSE.  545 

blasted  as  it  were  by  its  father's  evil  eye,  had  sunk  into 
the  torpor  of  death,  had  that  very  day  been  buried  out 
of  her  sight.  So,  indifferent  as  to  what  became  of  her 
now,  she  had  suffered  him  to  lead  her  away.  And  the 
encouragements  he  had  held  out  to  the  lost  creature,  — 
the  promise  of  pardon,  protection,  care,  and  kindness,  — 
had  been  faithfully  fulfilled.  He  had  done  for  her  all 
that  man  could  do,  and  Angie  had  done  the  rest. 

But  it  was  not  of  his  children  that  Diedrich  Stein  was 
mysteriously  whispering  to  George.  The  burden  of 
the  old  man's  thoughts  was  now,  as  it  had  ever  been, 
dollars  and  cents  ;  yes,  literally  the  burden  ;  —  in  spite 
of  all  his  disappointments,  all  his  shame,  the  bitterest 
burden  of  all  was  his  hoarded  gold.  Domestic  sorrows, 
the  blighting  of  his  fondest  hopes,  the  debility  of  old 
age,  the  approaching  shadow  of  the  grave,  these  had 
doubtless  brought  him  to  his  present  pass  ;  for  Stein 
had  enjoyed  his  petty  rule,  had  loved  his  children,  had 
clung  to  life,  had  feared  to  die.  But  he'  was  insensible 
to  these  things  now  ;  his  mind  had  become  vacant,  except 
on  one  point ;  he  was  petrified  to  this  world's  grief, 
anxiety,  disappointment,  dread,  and  still  there  was  one 
burden  which  weighed  upon  him  —  the  weight  of  his  own 
gold.  O,  strange  retribution  !  That  the  craft,  the  greed, 
the  selfishness  of  a  lifetime  should  end  in  this  !  That 
all  the  motives,  all  the  diplomacy,  all  the  artifices  of 
a  subtle  mind,  should  merge  into  one  solitary  purpose, 
and  that  purpose  restitution.  Yet  so  it  was.  Call  it 
superstition,  call  it  morbid  eccentricity,  call  it  a  heart 
46* 


;,  If,  Ji.t  i   \  r  r  i>    ii  i    i  i:  TA 

haunted  l»y  a\  en<_riiiLr  demon-.  tli:it  thwart  it-  own  will; 
or  follow  alter  charitv.  and  call  it  ratlin-  a  00fl0cien06 
awakened,  a  .-oiil  touched  and  tauirht  of  (i-.d.  the 
result  of  thi-  mi--pent  life  wu«  the  simple  effort  to 
atone.  To  rec.mipen-e  to  e\ cry  man  \\\<  due-:  toMtft 
out.  ol'trii  by  long  ttlltl  toilsome  ellort,  each  lUicon-<-ii.u< 
siihject  of  doul)lc-dealiiiLr  or  tVand.  and  to  Iran-mil  to 
him  through  some  sate  and  iin-u^pccted  channel  his 
exact  rights,  and  no  more  (for  Stein  \\a-  mist-rlv.  even 
in  his  acts  of  indemnity),  now  eiiLrros-ed  the  only 
unclouded  remnant  of  the  old  man's  faculti, •-. 

And  George,  tin-  chief  creditor,  and  destined  to  !.,•  the 
natural  heir  of  his  nncle.  was  ;d-o  the  sole  confidant  and 
abettor  of  that  Mfaeme  of  restitution  to  which  it  may  well 
be  believed  his  hone-t  nature  lent  it-elf  with  alacrity. 
Tim-  the  frequent  conferences  between  him  and  Stein  ; 
thu-  the  many  Iran-actions  in  which  they  were  mutually 
_-ed  ;  and  thus  Avhen  Annie  .-oftly  entered  the  room, 
and  laid  her  hand  on  (Jeorgc's  shoulder  to  anv-t  lii-  at 
tention,  a  nervous  start  on  the  part  of  Stein,  an  abrupt 
jerking  back  of  his  chair,  and  mysterious  ire-tnn •-  and 
hints  of  secrecy  directed  towards  his  nephew. 

"She's  worse,  George,"  said  A:i_rie.     "I  shan't  leave 
her  to-ni'_rhl." 

George    looked     Up,    interpreted     the     e\], region     of    her 

face,  said,  approvingly.  "  That's  ri-jht  ;   I  wouldn't  :"  then 

added.  ••  I   -hall   .-lay  too  of  course  :    you    may  want  me." 

Augic  thought  not  — .-aid  be  had  better  go  home,  and 

come  over  for  her  in  the  morning  ;  but  he  was  resolute, 


A    FAREWELL    GLIMPSE.  547 

and  it  was  well  he  was  so.  It  would  have  been  too  sad  a 
night  for  Angie  to  spend  alone,  and  neither  Stein  nor  a 
solitary  woman  servant,  nearly  as  decrepit  as  himself, 
could  be  counted  any  body.  So  he  went  back  to  the 
cottage,  gave  notice  of  their  intended  absence,  and 
brought  back  a  comfortable  supper  and  some  hot  coffee 
for  his  uncle  and  Angie,  and  the  old  blue  mandarin,  to 
keep  the  latter  comfortable  during  her  long  watch. 

Then,  Avheu  every  thing  was  quiet  for  the  night,  he 
took  his  station  at  the  kitchen  fire,  and  remained  there, 
broad  awake  and  listening,  until  just  before  dawn,  when 
Angie  called  him. 

"  George,"  she  said,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  "  come  !  " 
In  an  instant  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  staircase,  whence 
the  voice  proceeded.  "  She's  going  fast,"  whispered 
Angie.  "  She  is  talking  —  talking  to  her  dead  child.  I 
want  you  to  hear  her  —  it  is  so  touching." 

She  was  rambling  in  her  talk,  and  for  the  most  part 
incoherent ;  but  now  and  then  an  expressive  word,  a  con 
nected  phrase,  revealed  the  hopes,  the  yearnings,  the 
visions  of  a  soul  just  vibrating  between  this  world  and 
the  next.  Already  in  spirit  she  had  crossed  the  boun 
dary,  and  in  the  dim  distance  saw  the  land  where  they 
dwell  of  whom  Christ  has  said  that  of  such  is  the  king 
dom  of  heaven.  Often  since  the  death  of  her  child  vague 
intimations  had  dropped  from  her  lips  of  a  faith  born  of 
ignorance  but  exalted  by  love,  —  a  strange,  unreasoning, 
pathetic  faith,  —  which  promised  her  that  she  should  some 
day  walk  in  white,  hand  in  hand  with  the  little  one  now 


548  HA  r  .\  /  /:  i>   H  i:  \  n  TS  . 

in  L'lory,  her  >in-  ;ill  pnrifed,  her  Lrnilt  all  wa-hed 
away,  for  tin*  sake  and  l>y  the  power  of  her  child  trans- 

liirured.  h«-r  iunoceut  one  made  immortal. 

'4 
And  this  simple   faith,  this  soul-assuring   confidence, 

was  triumphant  in  her  now.  She  did  not  see  the 
watchers  by  her  bedside.  Her  -la/. -d  ryes  were  raised 
upward  in  rapt  vision,  her  thin,  wasted  arms  out 
stretched  for  the  eager  embrace.  "  My  beauty !  my 
baby!  my  own ! "  she  cried,  u  do  you  see  me?  do 
you  hear  me?  it's  mother."  "  An  angel!  —  yes,  an 
angel!"  now  n;_rain  she  murmured;  "the  >weete<t,  the 
dearest  of  them  all!  —  no  tears?  —  no  cold?  —  no 
hunger,  darling?  O,  I'm  so  glad!  Happy  land!  — 

happy  land  !      Ami  J  —  I'm  so  tired  —  tired  —  tired " 

and  the  tired  voice  died  away.     Then,  with  tin-  me: 
a  fresh  hope,  "They  won't  take  l»al>y.  and  not  let  mother 
c.imi-    too.     O,  no,  not    that  —  not    that!"     And    once 
more,  in   the   fervor  of  a   final  appeal,   u  My  precious  ! 
my   pet !    my   blessing !     have    you    found    a   place    for 

mother  ?     I'm  coming  —  coming  —  com " 

The  arm  dropped  heavily.  Mje  was  gone.  Gone? 
poor,  untaught  soul,  to  learn,  we  will  trust,  in  -oine  bet 
ter  land,  of  a  love  stronger  than  a  mother'-,  deeper  than 
•  I  -ath  and  the  grave;  gone  to  seek  mercy  hy  the  power 
and  for  the  sake  of  him  who  gave  him>elf  a  ransom  for 
the  sins  of  many;  gone  to  reap  POOM  lhare,  perhaps,  in 
that  redemption,  whieh.  LTeatrr  than  faith,  greater  than 
love,  is  "  the  iiifiuite  charity  of  (iod." 


CONCLUSION.  549 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

DIEDRICH  STEIN  outlived  both  his  children  (for  the 
torch  .of  Peter's  sluggish  life,  which  had  blazed  up  so 
madly  at  the  close,  went  out  at  last  in  a  flash  some  time 
during  the  spring  succeeding  Polly's  death) .  But  he  did 
not  outlive  them  long,  —  the  three  gravestones  in  the  old 
church-yard  all  bearing  the  date  of  this  same  year.  We 
will  trust  that  he  lived  long  enough,  however,  to  fulfil  the 
one  honest  aim  of  a  dishonest  career  ;  that  his  one  year  of 
repentance  sufficed  him  for  undoing  the  work  of  three 
score  years  and  ten,  and  that  the  heart,  haunted  by  the 
demons  of  remorse,  went  to  its  last  rest  swept  and  gar 
nished. 

That  George  sped  well  with  his  suit,  is  placed  beyond 
doubt  by  the  town  records,  wrhich  prove  his  marriage  with 
Angie  to  have  taken  place  within  three  weeks  from  that 
point  in  their  courtship  where  we  last  left  them ;  and 
thanks  to  the  fact  that  half  the  children  of  the  parish 
were  included  in  the  generous  wedding  invitation,  there 
are  many  yet  living  who  have  a  distinct  recollection  of 


550  if.ir\r/:i)  HKARTS. 

that  holiday  event.  The  India  muslin  must  have  been 
seasonably  taken  in  hand  and  gored,  fitted,  ruftled,  and 
flounced  for  the  occasion,  since  some  of  that  remote  gen 
eration  testify  to  the  beauty  of  the  bride,  set  off  by  a 
^o\vn  of  this  de.M-ription.  while  others  remember  ha\iir_r 
overheard  their  mothers  whisper  to  one  another  that  they 
had  felt  of  the  fabric  of  the  wedding-dress,  ami  that  it 
was  as  fine  as  a  cobweb.  All  agree  that  Dominie  \ 'MM 
/andt  looked  very  imposing  with  his  powdered  hair,  his 
snowy  bauds  and  frills,  his  flowing  robe,  and  his  polished 
knee-buckles,  and  that  weddings  nowadays  suffer  va-tly 
from  the  absence  of  such  dignities.  These  quondam 
young  folks  have  not  yet  forgotten  their  fidgetiness  and 
impatience  during  the  long  prayer,  nor  their  wonder  at 
the  tears  shed  by  their  seniors  during  a  brief  address  to 
the  young  couple  which  succeeded  ;  an  emotional  symptom 
<juite  inexplicable  to  the  juveniles  of  the  party,  cou>id«-r- 
ing  the  feasting  there  was  in  prospect,  and  the  universally 
conceded  fact  that  the  occasion  was  one  of  the  greatest 
rejoicing  that  had  ever  been  known  at  Stein's  Plains. 

That  George  was  triumphant  also  in  his  scheme  of 
taking  Angie  with  him  on  his  approaching  voyage  to 
Surinam,  —  possibly  on  future  and  more  extended  voy- 
;i._r,., —  js  evidenced  by  scraps  of  foreign  correspondence 
.-till  preserved  in  the  family  archives,  by  a  reciprocal 
friendship  which  is  known  to  ha\e  exited  lu-twerii  her 
and  George's  friends  at  the  South  American  port,  by 
the  reputation  of  an  experienced  traveller  which  she  to 
some  extent  shared  with  her  husband,  and  above  nil  by 


CONCLUSION.  551 

the  vigorous  constitution  and  renewed  youth  which  must 
be  at  least  partially  attributed  to  the  change  of  climate 
and  the  healthful  sea-breezes  which  she  enjoyed  at  this 
crisis  of  her  life. 

These  experiences,  however,  must  have  been  com 
pressed  into  a  comparatively  brief  period,  for  within  a  year 
or  two  after  her  marriage  she  was  figuring  as  the  centre 
and  light  of  a  domestic  circle  no  longer  domiciled  within 
the  contracted  limits  of  the  cross-road  cottage,  but  occu 
pying  the  wider  area  of  the  old  tavern,  which,  together 
with  the  Cousin  property  and  the  Rawle  farm,  had,  partly 
by  the  act  of  restitution,  partly  by  natural  inheritance, 
become  vested  in  George.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  at 
tribute  the  scrupulous  and  even  niggardly  exactness  with 
which  Stein  weighed  and  adjusted  other  claims  to  his 
partiality  for  those  of  his  nephew,  and  a  desire  to 
do  ample  justice  to  one  whose  wrongs  at  his  hands  could 
not  be  mathematically  computed  and  atoned  for.  It  is 
not  probable  that  Hannah's  life  was  prolonged  to  the 
period  of  emigration  from  the  cottage  to  the  tavern,  since 
the  senior  memories  of  the  parish  can  recall  only  one 
old  woman  among  the  family  group,  and  the  picture  of  her 
impressed  on  these  memorial  tablets  is  that  of  a  diminutive 
form  and  pinched  face,  united,  however,  with  an  activity 
of  body  and  retention  of  the  faculties  quite  unusual  at 
the  great  age  to  which  she  lived.  Add  to  this  that  her 
most  cheerful  salutations  and  expressions  of  pleasure,  as 
well  as  her  occasional  utterances  of  anxiety  and  solicitude 
were  invariably  prefaced  with  a  "  heigh-ho,"  or  a  "  dearie 


552  HAUNTED   HEARTS. 

me,"  and  we  may  be  quite  Mire  that  thi-  venerable  figure 
was  no  other  than  Margery,  come  hack  t«>  end  her  days 
in  her  ancestral  home,  not,  as  formerly,  the  patient 
drudge,  hut  promoted  to  tin-  chief  plan-  of  ease  and 
honor  in  the  household. 

Van  Ilau.-en's  deeply-grounded  prejudice  against  An- 
gie  mu.-t  have  yielded  to  the  influence  of  time  and  truth, 
or  been  subdued  by  tlio.se  thoughtful  winning  ways  which, 
in  her  new  relation  as  George's  wife,  were  unnv  directly 
brought  to  boar  upon  him.  Oilu-rwi.-*-  the  comfort 
and  independence  of  his  harln-lor  home  would  never  ha\e 
been  superseded  by  the  attractions  of  the  tavern  liroidc, 
where  he  became  so  thoroughly  domesticated  that  tradi 
tion  never  tails  to  refer  to  thi>  eium>y  chip  of  the  old 
Dutch  block  —  this  hearty.  Dimple,  four-square  man, 
who  miLrht  always  l»e  seen,  e>]»-rially  at  twili-ht,  com 
fortably  ensconced  in  an  out  of  the  way  corner,  his  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  and  himself  a  prey  to  the  privileged  chil 
dren —  George's  children,  who  clamliert d  over  him, 
d  around  him,  took  strange  liberties  with  his  pipe 
and  his  pockets;  or,  still  as  mice,  and  >afely  hid  in  the 
shadow  of  his  bulky  form,  evaded  the  impending — "Bed 
time,  children!"  and  listened  with  eairerne.-s  to  his 
oft-repeated  stories,  with  the  hero  of  which  e\en  the 
youngest  wa-  familiar,  —  uncle  Dick's  tales  invariably 
ending  with  "  and  that  boy  was —  who  do  you  think?  "  — 
to  v.  hii-h  tin-  an>wer  was  always  correctly  given,  with  one 
voice,  "  I  know  —  father  !  " 

Nor,  though  Van  Hausen's  admiring  love  for  George 


CONCLUSION.  553 

constituted  the  one  passion  of  his  otherwise  phlegmatic 
temperament,  was  he  eccentric  or  singular  in  his  prefer 
ence,  for  the  long-lost  village  favorite  was  destined  in 
his  new  career  at  Stein's  Plains  to  become  more  univer 
sally  and  more  deservedly  popular  than  in  the  days  when 
he  achieved  his  early  successes  and  triumphs.  Though  he 
is  known  to  have  made  several  voyages,  his  experience 
of  the  sea  was  but  a  brief  episode  in  his  life  compared 
with  the  many  years,  when,  as  landlord,  farmer,  citizen, 
and  benefactor,  he  earned  for  himself  the  praise,  the  grati 
tude,  and  the  good  will  of  all  men.  The  town  and  county 
records  bear  evidence  to  the  various  offices  of  usefulness 
and  trust  which  he  successively  filled,  and  as  justice  of 
the  peace  he  had  the  enviable  reputation  of  having 
hushed  up  or  averted  more  quarrels  in  one  year  than  his 
neighbor  justices  had  tried  during  their  whole  term  of 
serving. 

He  was  a  prosperous  man,  too  ;  not  that  he,  like  his 
predecessor,  knew  how  to  coin  money  out  of  men's  weak 
nesses  and  necessities  ;  for  though  the  tavern  doors  were 
always  open  to  the  stranger  and  the  wayfarer,  George's 
hospitalities  were  too  widely  extended,  and  of  too  liberal 
an  order,  to  be  consistent  with  success  as  a  publican  :  and 
it  was  less  as  a  landlord  than  as  a  shipmaster ;  less  as  a 
shipmaster  than  as  a  farmer,  that  the  fortune  which  he 
had  inherited  from  his  uncle  was  maintained  and  multi 
plied.  Still  he  had,  in  more  than  one  way,  found  his 
vocation,  and  achieved  prosperity.  Better  still,  no  one 
envied  him ;  and  this,  although  it  was  universally  con- 
47 


554  //.i  r\TKi>  in: ARTS. 

•  vded  that  he  had  the  lu-.-t  managed  household,  the 
hroade-t  acres,  the  fleetest  colt  (a  foal  of  Nancy's),  and 
the  handsomest  wife  in  all  the  Jerseys.  On  the  contrary, 
the  neighborhood,  which  had  sympathi/ed  with  the  more 
adventurous  and  aillicting  experiences  of  his  youth,  felt  a 
joy  and  pride  in  every  success  and  promotion  that  fell  to 
the  lot  of  their  most  worthy  citizen  ;  and  when  the  rapid 
growth  of  the  country  had  transformed  the  thinly  settled 
district,  familiarly  known  as  Stein's  Plains,  into  a  thriv 
ing  township,  Ixia-tiii'j-  a  post-ofliee,  and  meriting  a  more 
honored  name,  they  were  unanimous  in  bestowing  on 
the  place  its  modern  name  of  Rawley. 

And  the  old  tavern,  the  central  point  whence  our  story 
radiated,  and  the  spot  to  which  we  have  finally  returned, 
no  longer  Stein's,  but  Rawle's  Tavern,  is  still  the  centre 
and  nucleus  of  Rawley,  the  centre  of  all  the  hospitalities, 
the  merry-makings,  the  social  cheer  traditionary  in  the 
place,  the  centre,  too,  where  most  of  the  deeds  of 
public  spirit,  patriotism,  and  philanthrophy  which  have 
distinguished  the  village,  caught  their  impulse  or  found 
their  spur ;  the  centre  towards  which  young  hearts  turn, 
haunted  by  tender  associations  with  the  spot  where  they 
were  baptized  in  love,  reared  in  virtue,  and  consecrated 
to  God  ; — the  centre  to  which  old  hearts  cling,  haunted 
only  now  by  grateful  memories  of  the  blessings  which 
have  crowned  their  days,  and  by  the  serene  and  joyful 
hopes  which  gild  their  sunset. 


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